It’s venomous.

My body convulses to a fetal position at the sound of your name; just like when a kid hears thunder. It feels like poison rushing through my veins, slowly solidifying me into metamorphosis. My world stops as I see a picture of you. I can’t move for the rest of the day. The taste on my tongue instantly turns sour when I kiss another lover.

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It’s suffocating.

Anxiety kicks into high gear when I hear what you’ve been doing lately. The resonating sound of her name strangles my neck. An attack comes on, and I’m crying hysterically. I scream like a wolf howling at the moon. I turn into a cold, shaking mess.

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It’s manipulative.

You’re plastered all over social media, urging me to seek attention. Making up stories with no concrete evidence. Doing things that didn’t find me any enjoyment. It made me be someone I wasn’t. It made me lose myself. The opinion-anted person I was became shredded to threads.

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It’s hypnotizing.

My eyes deceive me at the sight of your name. I recollect the good times and never the bad. Never the accusations you made, never the other girls you were with, never the “I just don’t want anything to do with you anymore.” No strength of a phrase or action will register in my head that this is dead and gone.

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It’s sickening.

It’s not the type of butterfly sickness in your stomach when you’re nervous. It’s more like a stomach bug type of pain. A strong virus you know you should have avoided to begin with. Stronger than a migraine no Advil can cure. I’m nauseating. I’m aching. A type of pain that aches your whole body. It feels as if I’m wearing around a winter coat in ninety-degree weather.

I write days on end. I dance my heart and emotions out to rid the sweat of you. Yet, sometimes, distractions aren’t enough. I wanted love, but it’s not supposed to be like this. I shouldn’t be drowning daily.