Crackhead Love

17 02 2010

She was a crack-head for love
just something about the rush
the newness, the fascination with bright objects

one puff of infatuation
and the brain has automatic transmission
changes gears, has no reason or fears

straight as glass, just one puff
and you’re hooked for a minute
hooked until the next puff of love

about dawn she starts peeking between the blinds
it’s not paranoia, there is really someone out there
then she looks for lost particles of your love in the carpet
searches in vain for little slices of death or sleep
searches again and again

she doesn’t want to talk about the comedown
when morning sets in and the paper hits the driveway
the print is too small and the news is boring anyway

not as exciting as last night when the crack was boiling
with illusions of youth and freedom and invincibility
when love was new as a fresh-scored rock

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