My drug. My secret. My romance, my love.
I can’t help but be addicted to you. You are a drug to me; I cannot live without you. In my bathroom. I strike the razor across my skin, a relief, and I sigh out all my pain and anger. The pungent pain causes a relief of endorphins. I am truculent to myself, but I do not care. You are better than heroin, or codeine, or any illicit substance. You are a powerful, causing repose and tranquility, but at the same time causing panic and nausea. But I do not care, my secret. I become callous when I associate with you; and I am numb.
My drug, to whom I will have an everlasting addiction.