My skin’s bare, dry now though the tears soak it every night and around me are cardboard boxes, your name faintly stenciled onto their lids under scrawls of black ink from when I tried to forget you.
A faded photograph with a folded corner like the way you mark your favorite pages, my hands tremble as they trace you, your hair, your lips, every inch of you I thought I’d forgotten.
They said love could cure addiction, but your eyes gaze into me from the flimsy photo and I’m reeled back in again. Love is just another drug, and so are you.
This delicate image is poisoning me with memories: that day so long ago now when the sky looked violet and you whispered hello in my ear, your laugh as it rang sweetly through the trees, the grass, the sand, the sea, the way you said my smile looked beautiful in the moonlight and I believed you so desperately, back before I knew your lovely lips told vicious lies, those nights spent under a glittered sky, our hands tightly held together, your promises littering my thoughts like the stars.
Then I remember.
Long nights spent with no one by my side, I lay sobbing in pain while you spent your night with someone else, someone who didn’t tear at their skin and bite cruelly at their nails. Your screams echo through my mind now, assuring me I never meant anything to you, telling me I’m too broken to ever be fixed, yet even those words, like daggers to my heart, I’ve come to miss. The reason being they came from your lips.
You said the cigarette between my lips and the drugs running through my veins would kill me. Now you’re gone and they’re the only thing keeping me alive.