Falling In Love Is Synonymous to having Gum Wrappers Attack You from Within

A storm of
colorful gum wrappers (I'm talking about the ones that my
grocer tries to hand me instead of change) risk being
unleashed within me. I have
decided no matter how much
my skin protuberates and then perforates with
the force of a thousand gum wrappers attacking as if
they are in line to buy the limited tickets
to this heavy metal concert everybody
will be dying to go,

I shall keep this to myself.

I saw you today with your friends, playing the game
you play when you're all together.
The giggling and laughing and joking around and teasing
the ones who're present and backstabbing the ones who
are not. I'm the ogler at the corner of the picture staring at you
like you are chocolate fudge ice cream with three kinds of
sprinkles on top
and a caramel wafer piped in.
I can't keep this to myself.
Any longer.

You make a face
of confusion, that you don't know
what I'm saying, that your responses (="What Gum wrapper? What're you talking about?") are enough for me to get that
you're not interested.

Your sidekicks think I'm an
endangered species captured by smugglers, the way they snicker.
You went away with them, presumably thinking I'm pathetic
or something. No worries: I would wait another
day to
inform you of my lyrics. Remember only that
these wrappers that I talk about hold surprises. (Mainly anime stickers inside. But, even so, I am trying to pretzel this info
into a good enough metaphor.)

I think I like you.