I have a bad habit of developing
bad habits.

Like kissing the sad boy with pretty blue eyes,
or lighting a cigarette in the bathroom at work,
or visiting my good friend Mr. Daniels
one too many times in the middle of the night.

I am addicted to developing addictions.

I am addicted to the little scarlet tears
dripping down my leg;
I am addicted to shutting people out of my mind,
but letting them into my body;
I am addicted to the numbness that comes at 4 a.m.
when I realize how many days
I have been empty.