Intoxication

It won’t hurt. I will be gentle. Slowly, slowly I will inject you. I will stroke you gently and casually, I will project your thoughts.

Poison will flow through your veins, but sweet as sugar cane. It will warm you like a sheet, that winter puts on us without asking.

A quick intoxication will follow, your senses will be dulled, breathing and concentration will be difficult, your eyes will be tired.

You will leave yourself to my caresses, you won’t ask for an antidote, my gaze confidently flashing reveals me and my nature.

You will lie before me timid and defenseless, trembling from the side reactions. You will barely answer when I ask, you will drown in convulsions and retractions.

There is no cure for my poison, and I don’t believe you’d want to seek it yourself. Your heart will throb with all your might, at least until you free from me.

There are no other patients in my room, I have given you all my time. And if you dream of a positive change, I’m the cure, I’m the one…

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