Relapsing yet again
Injecting more ink from her heart and out
of her hand.
So much writing that her fingers becomes swollen.
Water burns and bandages itch.
It bleeds out pain and bliss unlike no one could ever
hope to understand.
From the start to finish it overwhelms her,
surfing the skin and bringing forth chill bumps to the flesh
with pleasure outlining each hair
But afterwards its always a fight to stay away
She wonders how could it feel this wrong,
It hurts to breath, churns her stomach sick
She always feels so defeated that it disgusting to see
The hold it has on her.
Because the only cure she has for the stinging,
the only ointment available,
to heal the wounds caused by her obsession
is more writing.