The shakes
Addiction is a dreadful thing. It turns everything into itself. Even after for the nth time you find the courage to limp past it, it's suddenly ahead and pestering you and poking sharp sticks into your legs making them shake the whole day. In your calmest of moments. Which don't exist anymore. Empty is what's needed to fill the empty jar. I hunt for shelter. Science has scrupulously called it dopamine. Cold and tectonic is the thinking. Calculated and scheduled is the planning. Filled with emotion the execution. And the legs keep shaking. Longing for the object whilst abhorring the proximity in its relation. Minus one plus the one is zero. And that's what I'm left with. I'm left with the day being one day at a time. I'm left with slogans and decisions and these letters forming sentences under my clicking hands. I'm left with thoughts trying anxiously to calm themselves. Trying to extinguish the fire with a fiery persuasion. I'm left with numbers goin