I thought it'd be romantic to date a drug addict until I became one. And although it's been two years since my last fix, I can't say say the same for you. You were mad that I was mad that you relapsed. You were mad that I asked you who with. Itching, always itching, was all you said about it. You were mad, that's the most I can recall. You acted like I didn't understand when that's all I did, those trenches were a place I memorized, but you never would listen. I was mad because I was supposed to pick you up that night, but you wouldn't let me. It was some fake emergency you couldn't explain. And I wonder as you got high, was I on your mind, or were you relieved that I was in the distance? No matter how hard I tried, you still kept lying and sleeping around, but I understand.
You know I forgive you, but the best I could do was let you go. I thought of the romance we shared, and wrote an elegy for it as you walked away without a care.