addict

I am not an addict- I’m simply a habitual user.

I do not want to lose or confuse her.

I am a spaceship- my eyes are two flying saucers.

The hip bone's connected to the thigh
bone. Let's fly.

Let's shrink down in pink size
then travel through this phone.

I don't want to be alone-

I’d like to make you moan.

Time doesn't need a machine
to travel.

Most times, like tonight and right now, it seems somehow
that the New York City "art scene" was created/invented
in order to keep young intellectuals from doing anything
substantial or influential

(Within these communities they cheaply
inhabit) with their talent and minds.

Sometimes.

The bottle doesn't exist- remember?-
so it's neither half-empty nor half-full.

Lay it all on the table.

A so-called "respectable"
woman walks

Into the liquor-mart
behind the mall.

For some strange reason my eyes follow her as my thighs quiver,
(or was it my liver? maybe) then I see the most amazing thing:

She grabs a liter in a bottle then begins to stick it up the bottom
of her dress; she leaves the store casually yet in a hurry.

Everything is blurry. Especially my reasons to keep on living.
I rather hide than try to survive in an era where cigarettes
are 50% more expensive (overnight).

Something significantly wrong with my sight,
however not quite blind.

Only lovers left alive. Everything is blurry.

If you will hurry and be mine then we will live, we will thrive.

Only lovers left alive. I do not read minds.

It is better to put the needle on the record than in your arm.

Here is my heart. Take it- just take it!- please and already.

It is best to shoot hoops not heroin.

Mix the gin with the tonic then begin
to drink it.

This is my honesty on a string; wrap it around your pinky
finger then let's let this love linger
(into infinity) forever.

Only lovers left alive. Together
you and me shall thrive.