Dancing On A Flame

I've developed this condition. It might be like a love affair, or a blossoming infatuation. However, all the symptoms are there, all the feelings of nostalgic passion keeping me up at night, an insomniacs twisted occupation. It's something like wet nail polish, after you've done two perfect coats, you have your hands tilted to the sky and your waiting for them to dry, you touch the tip of a finger lightly to your lips and like a deadly kiss you've marked yourself with a fantastic colour of cupcake furry and you laugh, amused at the action but kind of torn between the spot on your lip and the lip print on your finger. You contemplate, soon forget about it, later remember it, but ideally you want to befriend your nail, take care of it's weak spot. I have developed this condition that I wouldn't dare label as love probably lust, definitely lust. But a different form of lust, it's a strange combination of too much feeling and not enough feeling but at certain moments in time I'm teeter tottering on this ramsack of either one or the other. Suddenly I'll want to pounce and then suddenly I want to talk. It's a mix matched emotion of fear and excitement, losing it all and gaining everything or gaining everything and losing it all. A spork in the road, and the round of the spoon has consumed me and the prongs of the fork are begging me to act. Make a move. Stand still. Make a move, make a move. I'm dancing on a flame we have both lit, a flame that is taunting you and I and I'm rolling around the idea like bubbles in a bath. I've developed this condition.