heroin

I got hooked on your sweet euphoria, 

high on sweet summer sweat.

The taste of your neck and thighs

when I was fifteen and you were sixteen.

 

Hit after hit, high after high. 

And I fucking loved it.

Every addict craves their high, and I craved

a girl-cum-woman as we grew up

 

But the hits to get my highs

were harder and harder 

my girl-cum-woman came and went

as I took more and more until

 

overdose of a person is to possess

jealous and zealous about the who

of time spent with

now woman come came and went

 

withdrawal. fever. sweat.

bitter not sweet.

taste of bile now eighteen

you’re nineteen.

 

relapses with texts of

“hey love”

“i miss you,”

“I’m sorry you’ve been through”

 

and four long years creep pass

and I take my methadone

this replacement, this fake

girl comes woman

 

I relapse, and methadone

isn’t worth the sweat

and sure she tasted sweet

but she was no heroin.

 

I try another other opioid,

and fuck me, this woman comes.

a girl who gives me that first high

that sweet taste of summer sweat

 

but it isn’t enough to sate

that heavenly heroin high

it’s just good enough

fuck it’s better

 

but it’s not that first high

and I need that hit,

I need that girl-cum-woman

to hit me hard with that euphoria

 

it never happens and

woman comes and comes.

the high never hits and I lose

interest in this temporary heaven

 

cause I mix my heroin and my other opioid

too close together and all it does

is poison that new perfect hit

cause now the new can never be heaven

 

relapsed to heroin.

I took hit after hit

and my high wasn’t there

and I started to realise

 

the high of girl-cum-woman

was a cheap thrill as opposed

to woman comes, my other opioid.

and the highs don’t last and fade fast

 

and my sweet summer sweat

of highs between thighs fades

until my hits run cold, and it all begins to fall

from the heavenly pleasure I knew

 

I start to realise when my heroin

starts to poison what’s going on

in the dark depths of my head.

but I need that hit. that high.

 

cut off then. after promises of sobriety. 

I’m cut off from the source

of my euphoria. my happiness.

no other opioid to replace heroin.

 

but the craving grows for some sort of bliss

and I take more filler, to cut the urge

to hit that heroin high

I stop myself

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