Guilty Pleasure

I said I was going to stop writing about you.

I lied.

The thoughts of you give an unusual pleasure.

It’s wrong.

Your face is imprinted in my mind.

It kills me.

 I am crazy about you.

 I’m confused.

When I close my eyes I see you.

I’m dead.

You are my guilty pleasure and I just wish this thing will fade soon.

 It has to.