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.