I was told I am his addiction
what he didn't know
was that he reminded of La Perla in Puerto Rico
where zombies have lost themselves in life's disappointments
Losing concept of time with the background music of waves crashing against El Morro
Unable to recover from the highs
where the cure
is the path to hallucinogenic happiness in deaths corner -
I had no way of ridding myself of his remedy
as his voice enters my vein and all I can wait for is for the next hit to rebirth his name
In ecstasy filled groans
During the full time shift of hustlers paradise
I prefer the torture of loving him fervently in silence
Shivering in cold sweats in the cobblestone streets of possibility
Lost in my inability to risk between rehab and cravings, what's the point if I am obsessed with the sharp tip -
chemically induced hope
Within a sober skeptic
What do I do when I am addicted to him and he is my kryptonite?
