Is it raining only over my head?  The canyon fills, and I can no longer tread.  It’s almost over my head.  I'm drowning, drowning, drowning.

Is the air thick only in my nose?  I'm suffocating in the memory of your throes. I cannot take a breath. I want to forget. God knows I do, but you hold my attention like only you know how to do.  

Seems that every step that takes me away from you, you reel me back in like a fish you keep on a line, to tire until I finally resign.

Full of contradictions, you've become my addiction. How do I heal? Start here. You are not real. You're simply a creation of my unruly imagination, not the real deal, only an ideal, an imagined perfection dreamed up in spite of myself and for the sake of myself.

You started as a mere seed, and I allowed you to breed to fill a need, an insatiable greed. A character for which you auditioned, and I gave you the part. A false comfort you became, reassuring my heart.

I’m addicted not to you but to the feeling of thinking about you, a sensation that I belong to something, something more than me, my world, my thoughts. 

If I let you go, my thoughts circle back to me, to my emptiness, to my loneliness, reminding me that I'm not good enough to find happiness, a futile search that always leads to an abyss so wide I cannot cross. Still I’m lost

My futile search continues and always tends to lead to that same dead end, turning me around until I feel found right back to you.

The more I give the more it takes, an insatiable hunger, an incurable ache. This addiction always seeking more, more, more, a never-ending craving, always wanting more. 

So instead I surrender, forget that I never wanted to remember, endure, my heart burning like embers, replacing those thoughts with temporary hints of fiction, continue nourishing the addiction, belonging, but ever drowning, ever suffocating.