if I could down your words like a bottle of ***** at three am or use your terrible punch line to throw at my wall instead of my hand i would write your story along the lines of my liver and trace your response upon every knuckle. and if there was a way I could remove the pain from your past instead of the blood from my wrists and inhale every cigarette so that you would stop, you'd have no memory left of what has happened and I would have smoked my life away days ago. but because I cannot do these things, my level of addiction becomes very hard to express and I hope you come to realize that you are my bottle of ***** at three am, hand being thrown at the wall, ****** wrists, and pack of cigarettes. if you believe that I have become an addiction, imagine how addicting you are to me.