Just the thought of you was parasitic.

It gnawed at me from the inside out, slowly, but in great measure nonetheless. 

You infected my brain until it was nothing more than any other useless organ, and paralyzed with every sense of you my body could take in. 

Your touch made the blaze of hell’s fire seem frigid.

You left my scorched flesh, 

once full of vibrant milky life,

 scarred and blistered 

If only you had known that by doing so you had kept me from ever fully losing you.

On the nights where loneliness dripped down my bedroom walls 

Like puss of an open wound

I’d pinch my eyes shut so tight that the only thing I could see

would be static fuzz and lightning swirls 

And let my consciousness soil my linen sheets.

I’ve been bound by your sickness

But you, my love, are not without cure