you’re a drug person and i’m an addict


What’s different now with him and with you? She asks me. What made you relapse?

She says it like you’re my drug and she’s not wrong because I’ve been craving even the smallest part of you since you’ve been gone.

You’re a drug person and I’m an addict.

I think about her question and I don’t know how to answer because I can’t put a finger on it. It’s like some days I can’t stop missing you and the missing is so overbearing it makes me physically ill. Your memory is etched in my bones and every part of you sticks to my skin like sap. I rub and rub but I can’t get you completely gone.

Some days I have a hard time when I realize I no longer remember what your lips felt like on mine or the way our fingers laced together. I haven’t forgot the way it made me feel but the distinct touch is gone and my heart aches for more.

Most days I wish I’d stop burning myself for you. I wish that I put down the match and didn’t keep lighting myself on fire just to feel something. I wish things were different and we danced under city lights instead of letting the distance between them tear us to shreds.

I know I’m back to living in the longing and the memories of you. I took two steps forward and three steps back.

I’m constantly craving a little taste. Anything I can get my hands on.

Some days I wake up and feel strong though. I have days where my heads above water and I don’t feel like I’m drowning in the waves of missing you. I can breathe without begin sucked down by the current. I don’t get lost in the tide. I don’t lose myself in the thought of you.

You’re a drug. My drug. And I’m an addict. I’m struggling to wean myself off of you.

But each growing day I’m slowly learning to crave you less and less; knowing one day I won’t crave you at all and that’s the most promising part of all of this.

You’re a drug person and I’m an addict.

But I know one day I will be clean from you. For good. That even if the opportunity presented itself I wouldn’t take a hit.


Check out my debut poetry book Careless here

Becca MartinComment