Strung Out

Love can be just like a drug....

I'm passed out in an alley but the feeling doesn't hurt,
I feel some kind of way because my shoes don't match my shirt,
the tracks descend my arm to form a highway made of veins,
I'd sell my soul for one more hit of you, addictive dame.

My clothing bears the stains of where I've shot you up for months,
I'm not ashamed to say that you're the only thing I want,
or need in life for breathin right, I don't know what to do,
'cept tell the honest truth which is I'm strung out over you.

You hit my blood like nitrous ox, I feel it in my toes,
it happens every time I go and sniff you up my nose,
or shoot you in my arm or neck, wherever needles plunge,
that have me spittin bubbles like The Wire Season 1.

I know that I'm an addict but what else do you expect,
the distance that I'm walking far exceeds a dozen steps,
I've stole my mama's jewels for you and cashed my cousin's check,
to get enough of you to last but there was nothing left.

You've cast that hokus strokus now my brain is all amiss,
I'm just a ghetto boy I guess my mind is playing tricks,
hallucinatin deja vu, for you I am a fiend,
like Bushwick Bill punched concrete early 90s Halloween.

No need in getting clean, I couldn't handle the withdrawal,
for methadone there's sex alone, I wanna get it on,
your cream invades my seams and seemingly the cost is small,
the hours pass like minutes look at me, I've lost it all.

It's raining cats and dogs outside, this weather is a beast,
I dig amongst the garbage just to find some food to eat,
but nourishment is last upon the list of treats I seek,
you're 1st and foremost in my mouth of things I love to eat.

I'll prob'ly die inside this gutter but won't stop because,
I've shot you up so much my hands are now like boxing gloves,
a dirty stinking junkie's what I am and what I was,
another word for drugs oh yes, I'm strung out on your love.

©2010
The Cunning Linguist

Author's Note

Written in 2010