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Methamphetamine
This malady consumes me.
Fire inside.
So sure there's a missing symptom
to create an undefinable problem.
My DNA is missing a strand of socially acceptable chromosomes,
and I think I may break
before anyone discovers a cure.
Feeling much like Janet, I cry out as he removes the cause,
his own essence cut from my memory,
leaving no scar, just enormous pain;
my addiction.
I need his assurance that everything is copasetic,
but he may be feeding me falsehoods
as my innocence still shines through
like charred remains of once-living meat.
'A bi-product suffices,' I reply,
but I think to myself, 'I want no artificial sentiment,
only true affection.'
