The Physiology of a Swollen Heart

Just a fun rhyming of the madness within an intellectual girl, who no matter how hard she tries to bury her nose into her pages, the words and smells of him fill her head.

I've traveled the pages of Britannica, from word to word in every corner. It is the reading of intellectuals, hermits and mourners. Paper cuts of knowledge on my feet and in my mind. I've dissected all the information that I could find. Fact is fact and everything else that can't be explained is under attack. Science becomes my vertebrae, numbers the lava of my being, with physiology as my core. Life is about learning, I convince myself, there is nothing more. Love is nothing more than a dolled-up w***e. I'm lonely inside but nobody knows; how I attempt to distract myself as the sadness grows. Only the pages understand, only the books know better. I prefer to be the complex of a puzzle that they won’t attempt to put together. It takes too much time and far too much effort. I just let them believe what they will, as if I know the facts of the world in a stand still, though I can't ever describe how I feel. 



Even after cutting one open and following the tricuspid and mitral valves, writing reports on how it works, I still can’t explain what makes my own heart swell up so big when I think about him. I have no theory for the state of emotion I'm in. The swelling must be a trick of the mind. This joke is truly unkind!! The riddle of the very situation puts my mind somewhere in between the clouds, spinning my insides round and round. I try to sweep him to the back of my brain, so I can focus on the consistency of the rain. Somehow he swims back into my storm, driving me insane. He drowns me in his eyes, as I float around in his smile. I don't have the time for this, there's a thesis on stem cell research that I need to put on file! I can feel him climbing through my spinal canal and in my peripheral nerves. Tickling the very epithelium in the tissues of my anatomical curves, it’s almost like swerving to miss an animal in the road and instead hitting the curb.


I wonder if he thinks of me as well... If anything reminds him of my smell? The constituents enclosed in his fragrance raise the hairs on my back and clam up my hands. Every once in a while I have to snap my mind out of his pants. Damn this stupid romance! Where are my glasses? Last time I checked they were on top of my head. Gosh, I bet he'd look good in my bed. Oh no, shut up shut up! You have bigger things that need to fill up your cup. There are articles to read and research to turn in. Though, I'd much rather find out more about his cleft chin and his big, bold grin! Alright, that's enough. No more of this impractical stuff. Find your glasses and put him out of your mind. Go back to the library senseless girl; you have a book to find. 

Reviews

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...Love is nothing more than a dolled-up w***e. I'm lonely inside but nobody knows; how I attempt to distract myself as the sadness grows. Only the pages understand, only the books know better...

...those lines used to be my state of mind...your words took me down memory lane...thanks. :-)