funk this shit

Too much on my mind for haiku's... some amateur poetry will do I guess? (sorry for profanity but my vocabulary is limited)

I feel like curling up in my fuzzy blanket.
There I can attempt to ignore my thoughts
but my dreams won't be about the future;
more like about You as a monstrous villain or
perhaps as ecstasy in human form.
Either way - it's unhealthy.
And I don't want to be sick.

But I am sick and it's not the swine flu
nor is it in my head. It's in my heart -
the vital organ that secretly despises me
and, like a dick, leads me to love too easily.
Ha, but I'm not easy.

So who is wrong here?
Because it most certainly is not me...
but that would mean it is You. And it can't be
You because without me there would be
no misunderstanding which leads my brain,
made of cells and tissues,
to rip and shred apart like overused tights.
Ouch. My heart decided to follow this trend as well.

Shit - I think I'm going to go hide in my fuzzy,
yellow blanket where my thoughts can't find me.
You will be there, too.