I could make a habit out of you

I am hooked on you. Stuck on your words. Staring at your face. You don't even know it. Or do you? It's not as bad as it once was. I'm getting better. Really I am. It's only in the late night I get my cravings, and they subside more and more. But there are times, little moments between prayer and redemption and forgivness for another overdose and sleep.

I am like this with friends too, so don't worry. You ever have that friend that you wanted to crawl inside of and wear like a second skin, a friend that lit you up on the inside like a snow globe at Christmas? I've had a few throughout my life, and they are grand things. Just talking to them sends me singing in my car on my way home, reminding me that I am not dead inside just because I'm easily scared by life.

I could make a habit out of you.

Tie the rubber on my arm and watch the blood creep slowly up the needle and into the serum with red, hot clouds

Could I inject you?

I could make a habit out of you.

Boil you down into your purest form and save the cottons for the day you go away and my stomach starts to damage
Try to pull you from the clinging fibers of my memory to feel out one more way we spent the time and get that high

Throw you in a spoon with fire again

I could make a habit out you and smell your ashes in my blood

         just a taste, it’s much too strong

This taste is not a habit, but it’s started up a hunger, and I look to you with broken eyes, wondering if you’ll ever look at me again, or if the cloud on your horizon is the storm

I could make a habit out you
Cold nights alone
Never remembering that what was wrong is still not gone

I could make a habit out of you.

I read Templeton’s writeup here a long time ago, and the title stuck with me, only to resurface today.