the perfect chemical
The Perfect Chemical
Doctors prescribed 8 but 4 would do. Melatonin called in sick again and his romance with manic was nothing new. It’s just the blue hard truth.
Cup of black for his head and eyedrops for the red. Work is a clever place to hide, Much better than bed. And a friendly reminder that he’s not yet dead
A sterling young man on the screen. He’s feeling gold as the dopamine burns bright green. And it’s fleeting for most especially for him, it seems.
He’ll chase the feeling again, since the sky’s gone gray. He’ll drink mostly anything on any given day
It tastes good and helps with pain but the purple smoke again made him nervous The yellow benzo now a justified remedy for what he’s done on purpose.
I dove deep to find, Your love is coral. My skin absorbs the perfect mixture of your waters so sweet and opal.
As they drip like morphine,
your hips are amphetamine.
My brain is finally void,
from all addiction and every noise.
I’m feeling sound and hearing colors.
You are the perfect chemical,
there is no other.
As it took hold and he was taking flight, a sound so familiar shattered the night. His arm stretches wide, to silence the device. Not 8, or even 4 this time, No, 3 hours of sleep will have to suffice.