I am sick,

There are battering rams crashing against my skull,

My stomach is torn to shreds and tied in knots,

and my joints feel like they're crumbling to dust as they creak and groan,

Even dragging my pen across this paper is an uphill battle, and morale is dwindling,

But there's one thing at the forefront of my pained mind.

Her.

I'm not missing caressing her skin, or getting lost in those icy eyes,

And I'm not missing those freckles on her button nose, or the way she laughs when being a snarky ,

Not right now.

Right now I miss that stern stare because I can't, or won't, take proper care of myself.

I miss the oatmeal made just right and the hot honey tea in my favorite cup.

That's what I miss.

I'm love sick.

-Morgan Mcfalls

http://allpoetry.com/poems/about/Unrequited-love