I’m addicted to letting people go.
Addicted to the imagined blood running from the fresh raw wounds that expand as I violently shove them away.
Addicted to hurting senselessly, both I and them.
Addicted to the pleasurable pain.
Cuts and scrapes forming emotional tattoos to remind me of their solemn face.
They think the knife drove deeper in them than it did in me, but they don’t know.
They don’t know I’m also addicted to constant incisions, pushing the blade in harder as the years sway.
Self inflicted nostalgia and heartache.
Addicted to this magically eternal pain.