Our gazes meet from across the room
and I walk to you, slowly
holding your stare
you move aside to let me sit
perched on the edge of the barstool
you buy me a drink without asking,
patron with a lime
I take it in one shot not breaking your gaze
no good will come of this
but that smile, and those eyes
my God those eyes,

I am already lost to you stranger.

Categories: Anxiety, bipolar disorder, Depression, Mental Health, OCD, Poetry, Self Esteem, Writing