I imagine love is like taking
that first hit of heroin after
two months on methadone.
Slowly sinking back,
a euphoric state of
self abasement.
Chemical constructs bleeding
your system cold of memories,
stereotypes, and needles.
A mind scarred from nights
of chasing the dragon
all around town, hoping
she shows up while you wait.
I guess if love is this
unpredictable,
withdrawal
can't hurt
much worse.
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