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Inside the Mind of the Addicted


TW: methaporical mention of drugs

The first time she touched me, I saw constellations.

Her stars gave me a sense of what it felt like to be free as a bird.

Temporary epiphany,

But never enough.

Her cold fingers wrapped around my neck, numbing me to the point

Where I craved for more.

She was an artist and I needed to be her canvas, so she

Could destroy me with hues of red the same way she had

Destroyed her previous paintings.

She kissed the emptiness away, had me under her trance, under her spell,

Wrapped around her little finger.

My body was begging me to stop, I swore to myself that I wasn’t

Getting addicted,

But isn’t that what an addict says?

The gun was always in my hands, it was me who was holding it,

But only she had the power to pull the trigger.

I had to let her go, it was terrifying that my entire happiness rested in the hands

Of someone who could pull the trigger anytime they wished to.

The first week without her was hell because I had searched everywhere,

The second week was even worse because I had come to the realization she was truly gone,

The third week was somewhat better, and

The fourth week was the worst because I fell for her all over again.

Guess what she did?

She pulled the trigger.

© 2021 Denita Idrizovic

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