...heroin...

In response to Naked Lunch, a poem derived from a line I haven't since found...

Baby, you're my heroin:
I feed my soul on you,
and digging in
your growing nails,
raked up a wall
around my wound.
Maybe I don't know you-
as I press you in,
like past my skin
and, like a diamond,
treasure you. And you drew me in-
had me erupt in crimson,
pleasured plumes;
you shook me cold
and left me hungry,
hankering for you
and I kicked you
like a bad habit,
but I'm a dope fiend-
an addict-
and totally stuck on you.
   And baby, you're my novacaine:
I bare my teeth for you
in bouts of words,
sobs and shouts,
until they all come through.
You get inside my blood
and settle in my brain,
and at last I'm subdued-
when you hit, I feel no pain.
You numb me to the world;
numbing me to everything,
but the body always pushes out
whatever's underneath the skin,
and so I always need it more-
can't let it all rush out,
and the need for a hit
brings more words,
and then the sob and shouts.
Yeah, baby, you're my anathema-
the very best of what's my worst;
I bend my knee in reverence
to be blessed by your curse
and I bear your weight-
my crucifix-
to be swallowed, lonely, by the night
and every time, stabbed in the heart,
so full of love,
I die.