Relapse

A new love tries to make a start, but finds your name carved through every part.

I rest within a stranger’s arms, yet ache beneath their borrowed warmth.

I try to love, I try to stay, but every feeling fades to grey.

Their fingers trace across my skin, but never reach the void within.

I gaze in their eyes for something true, and find myself still seeking you.

I search their hands, their touch, their skin, for where you end and they begin.

But every kiss revives your trace, a phantom wearing someone else’s face.

For one brief second, you return, and every buried nerve will burn.

The dead awaken in my chest, disturbing all I’ve laid to rest.

I close my eyes and there you are, the wound I’ve carried way too far.

Not healed by time, not dulled by years, still feeding on my blood and tears.

Like withdrawal written in my soul, I crave your lips beyond control.

No distance dulls the ache you start, you pulse like poison in my heart.

The pain runs deeper than it should, yet somehow, it hurts so good.

Then morning comes, the lie falls through, and all that’s left is the haze of missing you.

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I’m a little insecure about this drawing, it was born from emotion and I don’t see it as beautiful in any polished way.

It is raw and honest—

something imperfect that carries more truth than perfection ever could.

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