Addiction
It’s a curious thing. An uninvited traveling companion, a creepy houseguest. I think I’d prefer a poltergeist to this tedious kind of haunting. That’s okay, friend, I didn’t like those dishes anyway.
But no, this demon is much more intimate. It stretches languidly along my spine, like a spoiled house cat, one hand on my brain and the other in my gut. It plays deep jazz cuts with my receptors – a serotonin sax with a dopamine bass line that really brings it home.
Twenty years without anything felonious, and yet the cravings arise. I see a stupid GIF of someone smoking a cigarette and my stomach knots with something akin to lust.
This is a ridiculous life.