This inaction feels like hot poison coursing through my veins
Your image has prevailed five months now in my brains
Like I was traumatised from the sweet smell in the air you carried with you
One week on a high of which the withdrawals I can never see through
I cannot fathom what it is I am asking for
Because when it’s you everything is just a blur
As soon as the skin heals it is flayed once more
Torture becomes a meaningful choice over the exit door.

Cover image by Shayna Take on Unsplash