They say that the body recreates itself every six months.

So in six months I will be clean and my skin will not remember your touch.

But until then, all I can think about is the way your lips felt on mine and how I never had an addictive personality until I met you.

How you were my nicotine and now my teeth are so ******* yellow.

And in all my attempts to rub myself raw, I lost most of myself in the process.

And now I am just held together by dry skin and ****** poetry.