88: hazy

The problem is
Him;

I can almost imagine
His face breaking into a cheeky grin
And letting out a hearty laugh
As he talks about everything and nothing.
Always playfully serious and seriously playful.

I can almost imagine
Him willingly burn his lungs with toxic gas
And letting out sweet utterances, unmeaned
Interlaced with meaningful words, unsaid.

The problem is
Me;

I am almost sure
He's not The One,
But I am starting to be more intrigued.
I am starting to falter
Though I'm probably just another plaything to him.

I am almost sure
That I should really hold back
Because this haze has clouded
The area around me
As well as my sense of judgment.