It’s addictive, apparently; bottled up
It could be sold in basements under shops,
Dark and seedy places people only go
When they’re desperate, in need.
Coming off the stuff is hard, I did it once,
I was in my early twenties when it crushed
My bones, my organs too.
I was sensible enough
To never try again.
But now I realise, I’ve lived a life
In shadows that were self imposed, not needed.
I couldn’t tell you why I let it run this long,
This shunning of a person I can love.
I guess I’m scared of something quite that strong
Flooding through my veins,
Rendering me blackout drunk
And living in those seedy basement shops.
Is it really sad that I can’t remember what love feels like? I got hurt when I was young and I had Noah and I just seemed to decide that I was never going to put myself through that again. And I know it’s because I’m scared but I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t want to get hurt again, or because I’m scared of getting addicted.
I know people who have that addictive personality that I have and they hop from one relationship to another; it’s as though they crave that early part of the relationship that is intoxicating and euphoric.
People say that if you were to bottle that feeling and sell it you would make a fortune. I’ve been addicted to something that comes in a bottle before and that really did end in tears. I just worry about opening myself up to that kind of risk again.