A mere few days without you,
and a strong itching manifests inside.
My thoughts feel dry - lack of oxygen.
My mind feels sore from resistance.
My soul, far from content.
My heart, like a lactating mother
with no infant to feed.
Like milk-filled *******
it feels heavy,
with only wet cheeks for company.

I need my fix, it tells me.
A spoonful of you will do.
It revels in denial but
it knows this love is true.

The first step to de-addiction
is acceptance, as they say.
Well, acceptance be ******!
I’ll embrace it.
Celebrate it.
Host a party and cut a cake for it.
I will squeal with ******, saying
Yes! Yes! Oh yes!
I’m addicted to you.

They were right, I guess.
Love is a drug.
It messes with my head to no end.