It tickles the back of my throat
and inches up my spine,
sending shivers down
the nape of my neck.
Gnawing on the tips of my ears,
like the mosquito
that just won't quit.
It's this constant itch
that makes me bite
at my fingernails
until they bleed.
Knowing that if I treat you
like an addiction,
that means that I can be cured
and the pain that aches
deep inside my veins
will fade away one day,
and I won't crave you anymore.
Or maybe you'll haunt me
like the notebook on the floor,
the last time I called my dad,
and how I don't visit back home
for Christmas anymore.  
This must be what recovery feels like.
There will always be
a bitter drip that seeps
all over my tongue and gums.
Then down into my lungs.
Reminding me of the
broken window and
the time we tried to start all over.
I'm 177 days sober from you,
and if you knocked on my window
in the middle of the night,
for a little taste,
I think that I would have
the strength to say no.

This must be what healing feels like.