I'm trembling, but who's to blame:
the dealer
or
the drug?
And, at this point, what's the difference?
I like the way the dealer warms me up, but I like the way the drug cools me down. I like the way they both make me crazy, but I love how they keep me sane. I love the way they whisper everything, but at night, they scream my name. I like the way the drug kisses my insides, and the dealer covers my skin. I love the way the drug feels like a virtue, and the dealer is nothing more than a sin.
I like the way this addiction is going, but I hate it all the same.
I wouldn't mind the dealer, if he wasn't the same place from which the drug came.