my addiction, tapered off and neatly crystalized into fiction.
how it used to sit bed side me, never asking of my well being.

now i can spit on the love socket, rearrange the droll docket,
hide in burrows with spectral toads, challenge modes of doing.

and how rare today (the day) someone says i'm ok.
and though the moon shone cold
where our bodies laid, the parlance was warm.
(today)