intoxicated by madness,
in love with my sadness,
my eyes are painted black,
my skin is white and ready.
and then the Urge turns up.
i play with my knife,
it glistens and pouts.
i draw patterns with it,
dragging it lightly over my arm,
leaving a pinkish stain behind.
the temptation kills me more than
the cuts ever will.
addicts understand this,
they’re the only ones.
i throw the knife away,
with all my might,
it lands in the wall,
sticking out like we’re in
a comedy sketch,
i roll my sleeves down,
i survived another time.
two fingers up to addiction.
Treacle Heart 