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
relapses with texts of
“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