Addiction is a dangerous thing ,
you said. Part yourself for it may
feed on your life ,
as you sprayed the wild fields
of my self germinating thoughts
with the pesticide of reason.
But a forest of lush poetic plants
grew to mock your plans; they
rose to fetch me oxygen
when I needed it most.
You can’t leash your breaths ,
I say. The addiction of life
isn’t that bad a thing, after all.