While the rest of my friends in high school were smoking weed, drinking, and popping pills, I wrote poems about him and thought about how good his last name looked next to my first. See, love was always my drug of choice.
It's much more addictive. I thought one gram of love could outweigh every pound of pain dropped on my heart. I was always chasing after my next fix. Being in love was such a rush, but inside it was killing me. It became toxic. Eating away at who I knew myself to be.
Love leaves scars. Looking in the mirror, I was scarred beyond recognition. Confused at what I saw. Half blind and half afraid. I convinced myself to take one last hit of my drug.
But this time I couldn't handle it. Fragile and weak, my heart stopped. My eyes wide and blank. My soul dark and empty. Love bled my body dry. Overdosing on the one thing in this world that made me feel alive. How ironic.
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