You were my addiction but I had to quit you.
Breathing you in always felt like a slow drag of my favorite cigarette.
I could taste you on my lips and tongue, and still never be fully satisfied.
I would spend countless empty hours in hopes for my next fix.
Your skin against my fingertips would have an urge coursing through my veins, a desire for more.
A constant need to see you was like an itch deep under the skin that I could never reach.
The way My name mixed with the sound of your voice was my ultimate high.
Quitting you was like being a prisoner in my own skin and mind.
The silent screams were too loud to endure.
You were my addiction, my own form of hell.