I Feel Sick

You're the dust in my lungs, I just can't seem to cough out fast enough.

The rest of my organs contract trying to mimic my heart in evicting you.

Your memory is like a rash on my skin

You've left me feeling deformed for having even known you

Droplets of you leave my pores

trying to reach an equilibrium of

1 half "breakups happen", 1 half "Fuck him. I'm a bad bitch"

I've tried crying you out but you cling to me like a parasite

Something to be excised

while risking a piece of myself in the process.

I'll grow back in excess

There will be no room for you.

This neglect of my health does no one any good.

So I'll wash my hands of you while singing happy birthday

4 times instead of the recommended 2

I'll eat my apple a day

and hope memories of you fade

like rashes in places I'd rather keep private.

My recovery won't be a miracle

But it will be astonishing.