It is a drug.
I need it.
I think about it, in every waking moment.
I need it coursing through my veins.
I feel hollow without it.
It is a drug and I don’t want anyone else to touch it.
It is my drug.
No it isn’t.
I gave it up.
And when I wanted to feel it again,
it had moved on.
Now the drug is scared of me,
can’t handle my emotions,
my needs for it.
In the end the drug and I want to be.
And we dance,
but I am a loser at the end of the end of the day.
And I just realized that even if I had the drug,
I wouldn’t be able to hold onto the drug.
I would push it away.
The drug is finally onto my games.
And knows my veins are not special,
at least not special enough to keep this phantom alive.
But it is a drug and I will never be the same.
The drug will always be part of me.
And while it kills me it also keeps me alive.
Maybe one day I will be better.
Maybe one day I will be the man,
the drug needs me to be.
And while I push,
And while I pull,
And while I crave her,
more than anything I have ever craved she is lost to me.
I am told to relax.
I am told to breathe.
I am told to chill…and I can’t breathe.
And so I am in an endless struggle with myself,
a struggle I am losing.
I know one day I will push her away forever.
So I know the end of this story.
I know the tears on the page.
I know the end of the story.
I will be called weak.
I will be called selfish.
And I know I will not hurt,
And I know I will be in peace,
And maybe in the next life,
The drug will be mine.
And maybe then the tears and blood will stop.