I’d chosen loneliness

In the name of feelings

That were not my own,

With the hopes of healing.

I’d chosen to forego

Those romantic notions,

But I’m never hopeless.

No, never broken.

If “love is the opiate”,

In my dreams, I’m still smoking.

Smoking away.

And maybe I’ll put it down,


But if “love is a cancer”, let’s call it by name.

At least I’ll live forever

In this particular way.

Because maybe I’m going nowhere,

But to me, that only means

I’ll be here to stay.

So if “love is the opiate”,

I’ll be smoking away.

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