I was told I am his addiction

what he didn't know

was that he reminded of La Perla in Puerto Rico

where zombies have lost themselves in life's disappointments

Losing concept of time with the background music of waves crashing against El Morro

Unable to recover from the highs

where the cure

is the path to hallucinogenic happiness in deaths corner -

I had no way of ridding myself of his remedy

as his voice enters my vein and all I can wait for is for the next hit to rebirth his name 

In ecstasy filled groans  

During the full time shift of hustlers paradise

I prefer the torture of loving him fervently in silence

Shivering in cold sweats in the cobblestone streets of possibility

Lost in my inability to risk between rehab and cravings, what's the point if I am obsessed with the sharp tip -

chemically induced hope  

Within a sober skeptic

What do I do when I am addicted to him and he is my kryptonite?