Addiction

I have an addiction.

I had craved all your lies and fiction and I’d fall for every one of your tricks--

I’d bring you to my lips and inhale every bit of “good” in you, exhaling all the bad.

But just like a cigarette, the good was the bad and you just had to leave me going absolutely fucking mad.

But now, I write this poem not the least bit sad that I quit you.

and just like a cigarette

you’d burn me on occasion,

but never could I escape your heartfelt persuasion and now it feels so good to say that you’re no longer part of this equation.

Because just like a cigarette you had me wanting more, but at the time loving you started feeling like a chore so I stopped.

Instead I took time to pick up all the little pieces of the lungs you had chopped to pieces.

Not my heart. My lungs.

Because my heart was still beating, but I was struggling to stay alive while you were out their cheating.

And the cancer that was you made it incredibly hard to breathe and instead of helping me out you just decided to get up and leave.

No.

That’s not how the story ended.

Instead I found you crying out for me

saying “come back, let’s become one-- just take one breath of me”

but you didn’t understand that not only was my love for you expired but so was the lease you had for my heart.

I only breathe for me now.

So I dusted off the ashes of our burnt love from my jeans, and I hope you know by now that this poem means goodbye, my love.

I dropped you to the floor and stomped you out of my life.

Because I am over you-- sort of.