Do I give your skin and bones
a strange sensation
like you do to mine?
They quiver and pulse
without actually doing so,
my emotions have turned physical
and I have no control.
When I want you, I need you,
or else my skin trembles with sadness
and misses your touch
and the tremors in my hands and fingertips
become too much for me to handle
I am a former addict,
and you are my methadone
but why do we treat chemical dependency,
with just another chemical?
You're the smoke in my lungs,
the blade to my skin,
and the birds and the bees
when I crave such sins.
My newfound addiction,
the worst of them all
with no self infliction,
I have no control.
Even with you,
I'm not whole,
because besides my ripe age
and my tender skin
I am only a product of my sins,
my lost innocence,
and this strange sense of loneliness.