You've been known to reside inside the pockets of our local ******,
more often in my mother's bedside draw.
You were my childhood kiss,
a silhouette of senses dancing on the street;
adolescently sweet.
You were his means to an end,
a partial paralysis of collapsed arteries,
swore only to be a friend.

"Step a little closer,
come take a clearer view."

But those to make it out alive are few.
You said you'd take away the pain,
you became the blood inside our veins.
I watched him rot straight down to the bone,
his agony poured out in moans.

"The shakes, the sweats, how can't you see?
They're all gifts from me."

They always warned us of your games,
I should have known it could only end in shame.
But you were here to stay,
and oh,
how we played.