Love

As an activity in English today, I was asked to continue on from an extract from a book (being the first two sentences of the poem). I came up with this and I am really, really happy with it.

If love is an obsessive-compulsive disorder-
same driven behavior, same altered brain state, same chemistry -
then I have been ill for years.
But never as sick with bliss, as diseased as now.
And as my stomach turns into an avory,
the ravenous beaks of a million birds chomping at my courage,
I look into your eyes and then turn away.
For I cannot let this disease consume me-
this love define me-
these feelings controle me.
For you are not I and nor am I you.
This sickness, this obsession is not healthy.
Am I happy?
Yes.
But these endorphins are merely an anesthetic that numb the pain of a heart once broken-
a heart that I vowed never to let break again.