Apparently It's Explosive.

This is probably the worst thing I have ever written.
All because I'm thinking about him.
I'm thinking about him and I can't think about anything else.
I'm thinking about him so much my mind is blank to the point of explosions.
I'm thinking about him so much the biggest word I can think of is explosions.
I'm thinking about him so much that explosions doesn't even begin to describe it.
I'm thinking about him so much that I don't even know.

And if you saw me right now you would be freaked out.
You would see my ruffled hair and wild eyes with a grin no amount of windex can ever wipe off.
You would see me and I wouldn't notice you standing inches from me.
If you were a chubby asian, I wouldn't notice you because I'm thinking about him.
If you were Edgar Allen Po, I wouldn't notice you because I'm thinking about him.
If you were Michael Angelicas, I wouldn't notice you because I'm thinking about him.
If there were a literal explosion, I wouldn't notice because I'm thinking about him.
These explosives in my mind are bigger than dry ice bombs.
Which aren't that big, but are the only bombs I have experience with...
My mind is exploding and I'm enjoying the view. The colors are pretty.
I'm not even thinking about the 1964 Aston Martin exploding because I'm thinking about his thumb.
I'm thinking about him.
Him.
Him.
Him.

I'm thinking about him like dentists think about flossing and flossing thinks about no one using it but lying and saying they do.
I'm thinking about him like Angelina thinks about Brad and Brad thinks about flight attendants.
I'm thinking about him like pregnant women think about chocolate milk and chocolate milk thinks about chocolate cows.

And I'm thinking about him so GUESS WHAT LOVE?
I'm no longer thinking about you.
I'm not thinking about you like I used to.
I'm not thinking about you anymore.

I'm not thinking about you like Neil Patrick Harris doesn't think about women.

I'm not thinking about you like dogs don't think about betrayal.

I'm not thinking about you like all the dead white guys don't think about living.

I'm not thinking about you because I'm thinking about him.
Eyes lips eyes lips lips legs lips thumbs lips legs lips eyes hair lips nose tongue lips neck lips lips lips.
I'm thinking about him so EXPLOSIONS.

Explosion is a good word right?
It's 1:26 in the morning.
I'm tired.
Tired AND in possession of mental explosives.
Explosions. Booooom. Cachowwww.WoOwoOwoOwoO(this is a siren noise)
I'm going to read this in the morning and delete it all.
But I'm going to read this in the morning and remember all the explosions of tonight.
And then I'll start exploding all over again.
All because I'm thinking about him.
And I'm not thinking about you.

I'm thinking about him 
and damn boy,
it's explosive.