Your friends warned you about me
And how I used the broken bones of the people I’ve hurt as armor
And how when I was little my father slammed the front door so many times that I learned how to close it without making a sound
So when I leave you, you won’t even know
I’ll be kissing you with one foot out the door and a train ticket in my back pocket
And when I see you in the grocery store a week later I’ll pretend I don’t remember your name
But I won’t be able to look you in the eye
And I’ll crash my shopping cart into a shelf when I try to walk away
You always loved ghost stories
But more than that, you loved trying to figure out whether or not they were true
You weren’t afraid of spending October nights in the old cemetery in the woods
Where a little girl cracked her head open on the tombstone of a serial killer
Because when you really like hurting people, you can still do it once you’re gone
So you don’t bother throwing away all the T shirts and CD’s that I left in your bedroom
Because you can’t erase love, no matter how hard you try
You can only adjust to the feeling of craving something you’ve lost and will never find
So you don’t waste your time deleting text messages where you told your friends about how you met a girl
Even though you never really saw me as a girl
I was just another ghost story
And my body was a cemetery
You weren’t afraid to stay there after dark
And when your friends warned you about me, it only made you want me more
Because you lived for adrenaline rushes, and loving me was a risk
Like walking across hot coals
But that’s the problem with loving someone like a dare
You walked across the hot coals to see if you could
But you would never want to stay there

They said it takes 21 days to break a habit. It’s been 134 days and your fingertips still remain on my skin, your voice still resonates in my mind, my stomach still burns with the fire you set in it. So tell me dear; what kind of habit is this?