I feel the heat and irregular heartbeat wash over me. The widen of my eyes and my bodies surprise at something that feel so good makes me so low. You lift me up and make me lower than a dog in a ditch. I come back for your addiction,  and cuddle the affliction. I skip around the room on you,  ignoring my impending doom. Making friends with the sober introverts in the room. You embarrass me, but my veins and blood are too blind to see, and my voice too scared to speak. Inhaling you slowly, with my eyes closed in pleasure only a woman truly embracing her demons can feel. You're what's real,  you're all I feel. My heel. And as I start to come down looking for a card or razor I remember that I'm a ******* mess in a ***** dress, nothing more than a hidden bore with an addict's appeal

The sky was weeping,
Her face stained  black,
His fingers receding,
Down her back.

She pushes the grams,
To forget the time,
When Instragram,
Was not online.

He thinks back,
To the days of old,
Where they couldn't keep track,
Of one's household.

What an age,
Since the revolution,
Setting the stage,
For mass consumption.

Data snorted,
She fades away.
Stored and sorted,
*For another day.