The Needle To Her Skin

He was the antidote to her ailment,
The lover who freed her from strife,
Whose touch ignited ecstasy,
Who gave calmness to her life.

The shame, torture, and pain,
And memories of melancholy regret,
Disintegrated into particles;
He allowed her to let go and forget.

But he made her feel weak and fragile;
She thought her anguish was stilled,
Yet her thoughts were only a sheer of euphoria,
Diguising a disaster that raged and killed–

Killed not only her peace of mind,
But her very sense of self;
Being dependent on him
Was enough to destroy herself.

She’d been concealing him for so long,
Like a blemish on her skin to be obscured
His role in her life was watered down:
A dual identity she must endure.

And when she cut him out of her life,
She tried to fix herself with other men
But he was her only fix. He was the
Numbers to her passcode, she can’t try again.

He warped her mind and broke her soul,
Yet she kept coming back to him for good;
Then swearing that she’d leave him,
But if she truly wanted to, then she would.

But alas, she cycled in and out of their conflict,
And in the end, he was just a needle to her skin,
He wasn’t a person–
He was a dose of deadly heroin.