Hey there old friend. Maybe friend isn’t the correct term, so allow me to rephrase. Hello old habit. You and me were best friends. We were the Thelma and Louise of our time and yes we flew over the cliff and plunged into the abyss. I was sick and I only needed you. Not chicken soup which is weird because I always thought you were better when heated on a spoon. I thought you were all the antibiotics I needed. You and me were married once. I woke up to you, thought about you all day long, and rushed you into my arms at night. But that was just the honeymoon phase.
My friend, my disease. I was in it not for the thrill of the chase but for the end of my pain. When I was with you I saw my dreams come true. Pigs were flying, Donald Trump wasn’t considered sane enough to run the country, and I didn’t have to believe I was dying. I didn’t have to care about Tom, Ben, or Jerry. Care if the birds flew south to avoid harsh winters or harsh people. I avoided both. I only cared about cutting  perfect line, rolling a perfect dime, and making sure I didn’t look high. If I said I didn’t miss you I would be lying but hey, you’ve made a liar out of me before. It’s easy to try and ignore the hell you put me through, but I would walk a thousand miles of hells seventh floor before I slip back into that fantasy. That coma of things that have never been and could never not be. Me and the devil have danced nine times to many and I know all his sweet moves.

My friend, my affliction, Kryptonite doesn’t have a **** thing on you! You kept me down for four years. Only down was up and up was blue and it was way to difficult to stop believing in you. Believing you were better than real love. I loved you so much. You were my sweetheart, my honeybear, my chrystal, my blow, my k2 spice, my daily fix. But you can’t fix this! You can’t fix my past or make my future bright. I know I sound like I’ve suddenly seen the light but it was always there. I just chose to close my eyes.
My friend I think it’s best we stop playing this game. It’s time I call you by your true name. Addiction, you were never my friend only another bullet I’d bitten. Addiction you are my cancer, you may not be stage four but you're still terminal. You were the Thelma to my Louise. Only now if I am driven to the edge of insanity I’ll skid to a stop. I will watch as you fall over the edge, and I’ll smile as you dive into oblivion. A place I never again want to be.

Nicotine*

I write this under a reading light,
my hand a shadow,
moving along the page.
I write this because you
told me I could share,
and because I've never really
shared the words that make
my hands tingle.

I write this because
you are my Toluene -
you stir my mind matter
in ways no one else does.
You make me panic,
then relieved, then okay,
then glad to be yours,
and then...

You turn into my nicotine;
The coldness of my body
not pressed against yours
seeps through my skin,
and the withdrawal symptoms begin.

Scrunched up lines,
blurred faces,
captured lives and distorted paces.
Ruptured skulls and ripped up dreams.
Coated in paint, stings are ease.

I wanted to call you today.
I wanted to stand outside with a cigarette in my hand and your name on my lips.
I want your voice in my ears like it is a drug, and I’m withdrawal.
I am nothing but withdrawal these days.
I’m months from my last cigarette,
Weeks from my last craving
Too long since I last heard your voice.
I do not like to admit that I need you, because I shouldn’t.
I tell people of your wickedness,
Just to hear your name in the miles between us.
You have been the blade that has cut me too many times,
But I am left craving your steel.
Your pain.
I miss you.

I wanted to call you today.
I wanted to stand outside with a cigarette in my hand and your name on my lips.
I want your voice in my ears like it is a home, and I am lost.
I left town to escape you in the hallway
I moved to escape your memory in my bedroom
I wanted to go home today,
To return to my small town and curl up under your memory.
I miss my cigarettes
And I still miss your voice.
And your steel
And your pain.
I still miss you.

I called you today.
I wanted to stand outside with a cigarette in my hand and your name on my lips.
I wanted to hear my name on your lips, like it is a drug and  oh god am I withdrawal.
I wanted to walk the miles between us just to see you.
Instead, I called you today, outside of a gas station,
And I did not hold a cigarette,
I just held your name in my teeth,
I told you I still talk about you,
Just to hear your name.
I still write about you just to see you for a split second in my mind,
I still look at my door like you will show up.
I told you I am still months from my last cigarette,
And minutes from my last craving.
And you told me you were proud.
I wanted you to be forgiven and me forgiveness,
But I am not, can not, forgive you.
Because I do not want to forget you.
I want to hear your name on my lips every morning,
To wake to you every morning,
Despite your steel,
Your pain.
I want to miss you.

When I die the biggest death in your life's history
you will see me in every reflection on every store window
Where I live in the world of ghosts will no longer be a mystery
and you will stop crying into your pillow

When you are sleeping I will crawl out from underneath your bed
and protect you from all the evil spirits you've never known
were circling your room, waiting to tear your happiness to shreds
I will not surrender, for my love for you is as unbreakable as stone

When the news spreads around the day after
to all the classrooms and all the schools in the area,
I know you will be the only one who knows I am not hidden underground
I will be with you forever, capturing in my chest your laughter and hysteria

Cold as the morning
cold as my blue heart
we don't have
to hold something
to feel its absence
to know its significance
we are drawn for reasons
beyond our limited sense
of time and space.

Each moment is
a turning point
we get to choose
whether to anchor in
isolation's safe harbor
or tell stagnant fear
to *******
we'd rather live
exposed and free

fill every cell
until brimming over
with all the love
that is destined
to flow our way
even the kind
that defies description
will forever be
the singularity.

We are alive
the ink is still drying
on this page
there are choruses
yet to be sung
love is
open
come in
out of the cold.

*******, Pavlov.