This aching need, this want.
It's torturing me with its taunts.
It lies in wait in a little tin in my purse.
I can't stay away, for that would be worse.
I tried, I swear, I knew you were counting on me.
I failed, as I have for half my life, and I'm sorry.
It heals me, it keeps me awake, it numbs the pain, I'm immune to heartache.
I can't cry, don't you see?
Without it I'm a mess of tears and emotion. I'm just trying to survive without creating an ocean.
I've explored the depths of insanity before.
All it takes is a little hit to bring me back to shore.
Is that so bad?