I'm not quite crazy, as I believe I am. Contradictory, and anything but boring, but not quite crazy.

Obsessed? Yes you could infer, rather passionate? Perhaps that's it.

I'm questionable, and indefinitely off putting. I regret nothing.

I could never forgive myself for regretting being exactly who i've always been, i see it now, clear as a cloudy day.

I'm not quite deranged, rather rearranged in an almost wrong sort of way. I'm passionate.

I can be too much, sometimes not enough, dull like a candle lit to be snuffed out. I don't regret it.

Not a moment have i ever gotten over anything in my entire 19 year life, not a single thing. It's haunting, oozing its way onto every future memory. 

It's all still there.

Unfortunate, I wouldn't say, even though it's made me this way.

I am not in love, although I do lie.

The walls close in on me, although I'm not inside. The pain isn't real, more so as real as I allow it.

But how could i? How dare i tell a feeling it's not who it says it is.

I am in fact quite crazy, I hear of hurricanes and lie in the ocean and wait.

Maniacal? Perhaps that's too far.

Although, I do think of myself and scream and cry in my car.

I know I am crazy, that's certainly on par.