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Description
I was asked once what the worst drug is in terms of side effects.
Now I couldn't quite say heroin, and I couldn't exactly say cocaine for I can no idea what those are like, so instead I said you.

They asked what I meant so I began to describe how your smile hit me like a shot of vodka, intense and burning and warm, how it set fire to the butterflies your presence caused, leaving my stomach turning from the fireflies you made. I told them how the hangover reverberated throughout my body, leaving my head pounding with thoughts of your laugh, and the memory of your eyes when you're happy.

I explained how when you said my name the sound of it buzzed in my ears until it soaked through and my thoughts buzzed too, high as a kite of the things your mouth did, off the simple tone of your voice.

They asked about how all of that was so bad, so I told them how I could go weeks without hearing my name from your lips, seeing your smile so radiant and intoxicating, and that withdrawal from you ached like hell beneath my rid cage.

They asked about the best time, and so I told them how you held my hand and my fingers tingled at the touch, the fire of your skin igniting a path of gunpowder in my bones leading straight to my heart, how you smiled at me, said my name and let me come closer, the proximity of your eyes and my own distracting and dazzling. I told them about the time I took a swig straight from the bottle, took a hit directly from the source. I told them how your lips felt like velvet, soft and silky and completely capable of rendering me useless. I told them how your teeth that smiled at me most days felt better on my tongue than my eyes, I said your tongue bullied mine and instead of feeling bad it just felt right, a battle between us that required no words, and I can't seem to remember who lost. I told them how your breath carried nicotine and rum, warm and poisoned but if that's how you taste then cigarettes can't be that bad, and I couldn't care less either way because that was the highest I've ever felt.

I was asked once what the worst drug is, in terms of side effects, and I had to say you. Not because it kills to go without, but because it aches and yearns for more, because I can see you everyday, but I can't kiss you everyday. And that's why, my dear, you are the worst drug to me.

Description
I was asked once what the worst drug is in terms of side effects.
Now I couldn't quite say heroin, and I couldn't exactly say cocaine for I can no idea what those are like, so instead I said you.

They asked what I meant so I began to describe how your smile hit me like a shot of vodka, intense and burning and warm, how it set fire to the butterflies your presence caused, leaving my stomach turning from the fireflies you made. I told them how the hangover reverberated throughout my body, leaving my head pounding with thoughts of your laugh, and the memory of your eyes when you're happy.

I explained how when you said my name the sound of it buzzed in my ears until it soaked through and my thoughts buzzed too, high as a kite of the things your mouth did, off the simple tone of your voice.

They asked about how all of that was so bad, so I told them how I could go weeks without hearing my name from your lips, seeing your smile so radiant and intoxicating, and that withdrawal from you ached like hell beneath my rid cage.

They asked about the best time, and so I told them how you held my hand and my fingers tingled at the touch, the fire of your skin igniting a path of gunpowder in my bones leading straight to my heart, how you smiled at me, said my name and let me come closer, the proximity of your eyes and my own distracting and dazzling. I told them about the time I took a swig straight from the bottle, took a hit directly from the source. I told them how your lips felt like velvet, soft and silky and completely capable of rendering me useless. I told them how your teeth that smiled at me most days felt better on my tongue than my eyes, I said your tongue bullied mine and instead of feeling bad it just felt right, a battle between us that required no words, and I can't seem to remember who lost. I told them how your breath carried nicotine and rum, warm and poisoned but if that's how you taste then cigarettes can't be that bad, and I couldn't care less either way because that was the highest I've ever felt.

I was asked once what the worst drug is, in terms of side effects, and I had to say you. Not because it kills to go without, but because it aches and yearns for more, because I can see you everyday, but I can't kiss you everyday. And that's why, my dear, you are the worst drug to me.