ADDICTION. A DICTION. A DICK SHUN.
When we first Kissed, I peeled my windpipe off the ground and said “nothing good will come of this” out loud When we first fucked, You traced the ropes of my forearm veins and said I was your drug. Now whatever this is between us was born addicted. This thing we created has a rapid heartbeat and weak lungs And I’m on the phone with you making comparisons to crack dens and back alley abortions There’s a Neuroscience to attraction. A car crash of chemical synapse. A painkilling concoction of endorphins and dot dot dot tocins We’re nothing if not chemistry Fuck E Harmony I’m disarmed by your arm discarding my skepticism with a flip of a wrist One sip of you and I’m begging to remain a functional alcoholic. A morning after a night of whiskey looks less attractive everyday after 30
so I keep drinking you down
hoping my reflection in the mirror remains blurry. I had to give up parts of me to be with you and if that’s not the definition of addiction then I no longer know what’s true. I’m told when you first try Meth you feel invincible. That PCP gives you wings. That heroin melts you like summers filled with ice cream. I don’t even smoke weed
but you tapped my veins like maple trees
and thanked me for being so sweet
and my heart dropped like a King Pop on the surface of the sun. These things never end well What begins with DARE programs ends in poems
and withdrawal symptoms Did you know that doctors have named a broken heart a medical condition?
Physicians call it love sickness. These butterflies in my stomach, merely vessels constrictions courtesy of the sympathetic nervous system. When my crush crashes into my anatomy, my body responds with the same steps reserved for fight or flee And that’s reality. That’s not metaphor There are casualties in this drug war. Last night, I found myself just begging for a taste. Just a fix so I don’t get sick. So our story doesn’t end like this.
I’m told “once you’re an addict you’re always and addict” So I want to make like Whoopi Goldberg and get back in the habit. Counting the days until I can see you again and have it. The phone calls like Methadone only stalls the withdrawals, but it’s not the crash I’m concerned with as much as the act of falling.
Matters of the heart my friends say are tricky. The feinding stayed even when you quit me cold turkey Now my poor heart aches every 12 steps you take. We were a great hallucination. Our own brains on drugs. Not just one fried egg, we were the whole damn omelette station and I wish I never even gave in to the first temptation.
I don’t really mean that I’m just reeling Slinging greenbacks on Big Mac attacks while I’m eating my feelings. I called this shit at the first kiss Now this whole audience has to suffer while I work through it. and I’m left stating my name on OK cupid pages. Hoping someone finds this kind of desperation charismatic, I say, ”Hello, my name is Harvey and I’m an addict”
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