Crickets creeping through my mind
Cracking like a pacman in a maze
Scratching on the lining of my face
Breaking into deep and solemn thoughts
Hatching wild ideas from within
Playing with the wiring of my ideals
Readjusting time and the dimensions
Flying through the space between my ears
Suited up like astronauts, equipped
To ravage through the craters of my brain
I lend a smile and then extend my wrath
I paint myself then cry myself to sleep
I fuck a random stranger to forget
Rockets fired all throughout the night
Counting down for takeoff every evening
I pace myself until it feels just right
Blast off always puts me on the edge
Floating in an endless hyperspace
Peering at the cosmos from my windowsill
A countdown starts, I see it on the screen!
Times Square is full of people on New Year’s eve
Waiting for a show of something nice
Waiting for some answers, for some love
Peering at my launchpad up above
And as the ticker slowly loses numbers
My head prepares for blast off and beyond
The clock strikes twelve
A “Happy New Year’s” roars out loud
I reach towards my glock and make a sound
bohemiaspeaks 
it sounds like she was addicted to something more than sex.
You have a gift for cutting through the appearances to the essence of the experience – in this case the experience of addiction of any kind. Somewhere in you a kind of viewer or seer is active that allows you to bring into words very honest insights. These insights are of great value. Thank you! ☼ tomas