Clouded

You were a drug to me, babe.
You weren't the medicinal kind either.
You weren't just a painkiller.
You weren't an antidepressant.
You weren't a Xanax.
You weren't Valium.
You weren't even the good kind of drug.

You weren't heroin or meth or ecstasy.

You were the kind of drug that
messed around with my heart and left my brain feeling clouded.
You were the kind of drug that left me confused and
feeling worse than before I took you.
But I did.
Again and
again.
I told myself I would
break this vicious cycle of unscrewing your cap and
hating myself for it afterwards.
That I wouldn't draw back the plunger and
force you into my veins anymore.
But I didn't.
Again and
again.

I told myself you
would be the death of me.

Every high you gave me left me feeling
lost in the clouds.

I might as well have been
six feet deep.