Addiction

This isn't a poem, but it's been in my head for a while. I was looking for a picture that described what I was feeling at the moment and I couldn't find one.


I can't find anything that depicts what it looks like when it claws at you. When it creeps up in your throat and renders you incapable of breathing without it. When it lodges itself in your heart and stops the beating. Till your head is light and you can't think straight. No breathing, no beating, no thinking, just feeling. It waits till it gets you there, to that state where all you can do is feel it. Then it takes you, then it claws at every inch of skin it can find with razor sharp talons that scrap at you, and you bleed, oh you bleed, but you don't find it as disgusting as you should. And you scream, oh God, you scream, but you can't remember if its from the pain or the pleasure because it hurts so good. And you're bleeding, and screaming, not breathing, not beating, not thinking, till finally its dark, its pulled you under, to that place where you're safe.

When you come to again, you wait for it, every muscle tensed, waiting for it to claw at your throat again. But you don't know if you're waiting to brace against it, or to embrace it. Because more than you need the air it denies you, the heart beat it steals, the thought it commandeers, you need to see the blood, and you need to hear the screams, and you need to be so exhausted from it that you just go black for awhile, and you need to come back and do it all over again, because more than anything else, you need those silent, invisible pains to make sense.


Addiction