Her Drug

Story Behind The Poem

Friends, I know it's been a minute since I've given you some new stuff, but fear not!!! Seriously though, I'm droppin off a new piece for y'all...another one that will give you a glimpse of me. The approach this time is a bit unique in that I'm not telling a story from my perspective, so much am I discussing a break up from the perspective of an ex.

We were best friends once upon a time, the we dated, then we broke up. There were periods of what was probably pure hate (at least on her end, I think) and then reconnections followed by other break ups...man, y'all know the deal, I'm sure everyone had has a sito similar to this one to some extent. You keep revisiting situations that you know can't or shouldn't go any further, probing for some avenue that you know doesn't exist.

At any rate, I recently have been....encouraged to go ahead an finish this poem. I'd been working on it a while, but never quite knew how to end it....the poem always felt like the middle of a story, like something else had to be done to have closure. But then I realized....there was no other place for us to go, and deep down she realizes that too. What we have now is what we have and it can go no further, there is no crisp, tight ending, or closure in any form you would expect it to take. So the poem itself, probably will leave you wanting something more...but shit, that's the way of relationships right?

And for you simple minded folks, this poem is about alot more than sex.....y'all nasty!!!


Owwie, Enjoy

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There was fire and heat
But no lighter, nor flames, nor any fumes
Still, she would always inhale…
As if in preparation
She would close her eyes and inhale
As it entered her, her body would relax as it worked its way through her stream
The discerning eye could see the injection consume her
And in an instance, from what was but a casual escape, an addiction was birthed

The moment that expectation and satisfaction merged,
She felt the rush and never again would be the same
Never again would she be able to….casually partake
She was unaware that even a small hit would cause her to revert
I knew otherwise

When face to face with her addiction, she’d fall unconscious
Leaving her present limp and untended
A slave to a selfish desire to be needed and wanted…..and content
And content she was, many times over
Yet, though she used in order to achieve her high
Certain, she soon convinced herself, she was, that she was not an addict
But a victim of the narcotic’s vengeance
An impossibility, a sane mind would recognize that much
But again….she was hazed
A queen in a world of purple clouds, green suns, and white waters
To some extent, she doubtlessly was but an instrument for satisfaction
But to impugn the substance, and not the craving, was to misplace her animosity
Because it was not the drug using her
But her, using herself, to suit her dependency…
…To dress her enslavement in golden shackles
To posture herself such that she felt justified, and not a fault, in the role she played in losing

She craved for what she once had that had heightened her standing, reminders
Substituting intense moments to again feel how she once felt, she was tripping badly
Other packages were too stepped on, too weak to please her
She recognized that strychnine was not a kick
It was not real, it was poison and she needed that raw
Thus, as she chased her high, she felt no shame


Once she was able to resist the callings
Seeing herself leaning, she recognized her addiction
And she ran away swiftly, fueled by anger, distraught by her reflection
For a day she was a champion; stronger than the high she longed for
But that was only a moment
The first of twelve steps, she’d go no further
She soon became okay with, if not satisfied with her reflection and her addiction
Until this point, it had never been so evident that the narcotic surpassed influencing her
It controlled her system
One with her being now, destined to forever have a hold on her
Overdosing may be her only way out
A suicide necessary to live..
Now if that ain’t a sickness…
And at the same time, the cure…
She needs that feeling, and I am her means
So she takes me because I take her…

She takes me because I take her…

She takes me because I take her…

She takes me…

Because I take her there

Why else would she not walk away?
Cause it damn sho’ ain’t love, right?