How could I ever write again after what you did. Kicked my heart out through my chest. My body tries to love another, but my heart— now buried in the ocean locked in a chest covered in chains, is somehow still beating. I barely feel it. It’s new, I call it a gift after the last one was too damaged to continue. What you did actually killed me, whoever I was. Whimsy, filled with roses and sour candy drizzled with honey. Your favorite person, she’s just a memory, a character, who everyday I try to conjure like a spirit. God forgive me for this witchcraft. But when I’m with him I almost feel like myself again. His deep strokes are so deep, enough to erase you from the place you once called home. Your ghost moans whenever I come. These new heights you never could reach. With every orgasm I cast you out and burn the remains of every memory that caused me pain. Every show I watch that says your name, every red train, when the Yankees play, I cringe. Someone please pass the syringe. These drugs aren’t strong enough when it rains. Next time I’ll scream for him to go deeper— not that he needs to. He opens the floodgates like you never could so I can release you and your poisonous love for good.
I call it my ex-orcism.
