You are an addiction,
a bit funny kind of addiction.

Not that type of lingering smoke
by the pack of cigarettes or
the high of a single hit

Not that type of an opiated mind
of maze-like thoughts
discarded cans of buzzing minds

I will try and try to verbalize these thoughts
but I'm a coward
so I keep them inside the confines of my head

So I tell no one, i am eaten by these
by this one thought
this kind of funny addiction

when times are good, I wait
for it to knock on my doors
windows, basement opening

from everywhere. And it wins
like a God, I am nothing.
Too bad, this isn't God.

The secret, this addiction
the rush of blood out my veins
I try not to let it win

but from the start it already won,
my thoughts are its *****, on my wrists
stamping each of them with a label

"die"