Photographed by Naomi Arsyad (2014)
I am not those rolls of shivered hemp. I couldn’t take you to dulcet illusion where bodies of The Reality and The Dreams clasped in burning passion, producing illicit earthly children. I can’t be thick inebriating smoke that pulled you away from a black hole, bring you to dive in the most tremendous spot of delusion. I am not an ember that smoldered your stubs and your sanity.

Me. Negative-addiction. To you.

I am your weakened body and brain system. I am your massive headache in the first light of sunrise. I am your innumerable problems that suddenly slammed you to the deepest part of hell as you slowly regained consciousness. I am that rotten diseases in your lungs and blood.

You are the numerous amount of money I am willing to burn. You are a horrific horror where I always return. You are a kiss from Poison Ivy I always yearn. A broken glass I stubbornly put back together even though my fingers got cut and bleed. You are a marvelous flaw that ironically completed me. A venomous rapture.

You. Addiction. To me.

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