Got it bad

I've flipped the covers off of me, blaming this insomnia
on being over heated, uncomfortable, not even tired.
I'm a liar. I feel like a pig rolling around in a big pile of
frustration and as I splash in this distastefulness squealing,
I'm somewhat disgusted at how I am enjoying this mess.

I know I've got it bad when I can't even sleep without
hearing your voice first.

I stand in front of my mirror brushing my teeth and as I
stare into it, I see tears make like a kid and play peek-a-boo
with my eyelids. I blame it on the fan, something in my eyes,
spicy toothpaste, but I'm dishonest. The urge to cry erupts
from thoughts of you being stranded with a broken heart
as I helplessly live my life day by day unable to heal it.

I know I've got it bad when I can't stand looking at my own
reflection because my expression shows I'm thinking of you.

I can't even have you. It's a bitter sweet taste, but just that.
A taste. See, I wish to devour your love unto my famished soul,
but it's impossible. Which is why I'm angry at how abrupt
I've allowed your image to take over the scenery in my mind.
I've allowed the silence of this moment to strangle my neck
and leave me gasping for just a faint sound of your laughter.

I know I've got it bad because I'm awake thinking
how I'd give anything to teleport into the warmth of your bed.

I just don't know what to do. My feelings have driven unto
country roads where there is no turning around, there are
no street lights, and I'm lost in a land that spells your name
in clouds, and whispers your voice amongst rustling leaves.
I know I need to crash, because if I don't I'll keep driving until
I find you.

I know I've got it bad because I already know the answer.
I will never reach you, but allow my body to be deprived of you.