At first glance, breathing—
It was the last thing on my mind.
His eyes make diamonds envious
As they sparkle brighter,
Leaving a trail of girls after.
And his lips, once words flow,
There’s nothing, I know,
That I want to hear more.
Blessed in the gene department,
Everyone can see.
Just standing in the room
Makes girls weak on the knees.
Pathetic—now that is me.
I don’t even deny that
I am lost in my own reverie.
Because if to be noticed by him
Was a competition through lottery,
Count me in; I bet my all.
The psychotic girl stands tall.
Despite knowing that I have only
Chances that are one
I won’t even deny,
I still hope on you, probability.
(featured image courtesy: MTV)