Taken In

Drawn into my skin,
into my brain,
like a drug,
a hit,
a glass of wine.
Intoxicating.
Infuriating.
Foreign, but a part of me,
not easy to let go.

Taken in.
Taken over.
How can I be rid of you,
when you're a part of me?

Chelating with a new love
only gets me hooked again,
and nothing else
can draw you out,
remove your sting,
make me pure again,
except a few kind words from you.
And time.

This was written for Sunday Scribblings.