i really like your peaches, wanna shake your tree

i’ll be honest, i’m currently kicking an addiction. it’s not something there’s a clinic for, it’s something that’s in my veins and makes my head spin, makes me nauseous and weak when it’s gone but i’m so soft and yielding when it’s around. i love myself a little more when i’m on it, i‘m the life of the party and i glow, just a little.
hardest drug i’ve ever done.
girls.
i get clean and sober for a few weeks. i do so well, i think i’ve kicked it forever. i start making plans, sleeping regular hours, getting my homework done. then, one night, i’ll wake from a fitful sleep, sweating and alone between the cool sheets bunched in my fists. those are the nights i’d crawl down any dark alley after some pretty eyes and soft hands. i won’t bring it into the house, though. i promise.
i’d run, but i know there’s no geographic cure for things like this.
it’s got street names like ex and crush and luv, it comes in all these shapes. sometimes it looks like sugar cubes, sometimes it looks like what it is- dark and dangerous. sometimes it comes folded between sheets that you have to peel away, like some forbidden fruit with a thick skin.
time stacks itself in the strangest ways when i’m on it, twists and slows, drags and speeds and i hardly know what day it is, waiting for the weekend when i can spend all of my time doing it. winters pass and i barely feel the cold. i’ll give up my jacket for it, and walk in december in just a tee shirt, a stupid grin on my face and light drugged happy feet carrying me toward home. summer comes and my skin browns, i don’t look so tired anymore, my heart is still beating, even though i still spend all of my time on this drug, and everyone knows but they can’t catch me long enough to stage an intervention. i slip away at the oddest hours, early in the morning before the sun comes up, catching a bus downtown or to wherever i can find it. i drag my friends to shows, tiny dark clubs and bars if i know it’ll be around. they smile and drink and shake their heads at me, wondering when i’ll get sick of being sick and quit again.
the thing about quitting is, the withdrawals are terrible. coming down isn’t so bad, it’s just sleeping alone and knowing it’s for good that gets to an addict. and i guess that’s what i am. an addict. i’ll admit it, here, in front of gawd and you and you and whoever else is listening. i have a problem. and i’m never going to kick it. i’ll keep going back until it saves or ruins me, and you’ll never hear me complain. my mouth has other worries.