Infected
A leech in my mind that does not take away, but instead creates a nuisance. Heartless am I without love and one to hold dearly; there is no substitute for the happiness that love itself gives. The sensations and feelings of ecstacy are irreplaceable and addictive. Love is a substance that cannot be man-made, a disease that cannot be cured, and a scar that cannot fully be healed. Love is always there whether subtle or obvious
Although common, it may not seem as a disease, but it is something that touches every single person. "Victims" are either hurt or taken into a fog that drives them to do different. I have been caught into the thickest of fog to the point of forgetting who I truly was. It had taken more than two whole years for me to fully see through that fog. Standing at the outside looking in, I can see those who are effected most and those who are in control of the fog.
This leech is growing stronger, bringing up the subject where it is not needed. Helplessly I give up, letting its poison completely infect my mind; spreading this disease until all I can think of is love itself. Seemingly nothing can break this curse from my soul and set me free. The only option is to adapt and cope with my own downfall until it breaks all support holding me up.