Sickly desire,

Dangerous screaming,

Unwarranted adaption,

Aching lust.

All for consumption.

Is this the sin of gluttony?

Or simply a consequence of my succumbing desire for ecstacy.

One fine powder,

Quiet different from the powder you patted on your flawless face.

One gram,

And then another,

Impressively strong

And addicting.

But I shall succumb no more,

I won’t give in.

I won’t give in even as I lay on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor.

My strands of hair and sweat ridden sweatshirt stinking of vomit,

Goosebumps flooding all over my body,

Shivers running down like a lovers hand.

This is my body rejecting all that is pure,

All that is safe,

And that should be.

Adaption is not for the weak,

But the reverse is utter hell.