my fingers are laced in a chalice 
of drugs that **** my sensations. 
i used to resist them as a loner—
until the white coat angel 
ignited my fouls with 
radio-knob tweaking. 

now i sprawl in expiring
fictions that come anew
and reprint their additives;
making me a king
of numbers, of colours, 
of game. 

until my world is all
mold and brain.

Additive

Her love is like a sweet poison that I willingly consume.
My time with her is a beautiful misery that I endure.
To escape her is unthinkable as I am addicted to the heavenly suffering she has rewarded me with.