You are my drug...
I'm addicted to you...
I'm starting to lose my mind...
Letting myself be hurted again....

Is it relapse if it's not a drug?
Is it a drug if I have to hide it?

I love you sober
I love you high-
you have a kiss
that money can't buy.

Writing this piece was a trouble,
says the story of a lovely couple.
A dinky apartment of 2 BHK.
Each day as lively as a flower in a freshly made bouquet.
First light was marked with peck.
Followed with looking for specs on the head.
Before the office came a hug,
that was addictive as a drug.
Their love moved the machine,
and so was their routine.
Today was no different,
For the going to be parent.
The peck, the spec, the hug and lunch.
All love showered in a bunch.
An extra kiss for the bump.
Promised to be back before the moon came up.
Had to return early,
to take her to the hospital securely.
The staff started to prepare.
Sat reciting a prayer.
That happiness was no lie,
when heard his baby girl cry.
Their eyes were full,
when saw their daughter beautiful.

I write about you like street artists sketch strangers on subways. Using diction only found in the speech of brush strokes. Your water color eyes sink ships like sirens — and I was drowning, watching the kaleidoscopic surface give way to your naked abyss.

I scroll my way through life
Cause I don't have to feel the pain
With all the smiles on instagram
I don't hate my life when I'm distracted

Just when I think I left the past behind,
My demons finally caught up to me.

Self-destructive tendencies,
Manic, mental, inability
To overcome this disease that plagues me.

It's cyclical,
It's haunting,
And it's exhausting.

I want to feel whole again.
I want to be happy.
I want to feel okay again.

I don't want to head down this road once more.

It seems I'm following a self-fulfilling prophecy,
Because all I seem to do is crave a substance,
That I know will only bring temporary happiness.

Dear Diary, I'm here to say,
I'm back once again, my thoughts in disarray.

I promise I'm trying.

I'm trying to overcome this years-long battle.

Dear Diary, I have to be honest with myself,
And honest with others,
Otherwise, what's to say I am trying to get better?

This writing is a testament, a statement,
A promise.

Dear Diary, this will be my last letter.

I drink and smoke a lot but hard drugs is where I draw the line.