You aren't what you eat.

Pop it, smoke it, snort it. Now drop it.

If
         Ecstasy tasted sweet

                                 I'd have died a hundred times— a sugar rush and terminal immediately.

If
        Acid tabs were ice cream flavored
            
             My thighs would've spilled out my jeans— leaving me hopelessly and utterly obese.
   

If
        Weed didn't taste like stinky soggy moss,

and more like creamy, chocolatey ice-shaven

frost
     
                                                                                    I'd have no teeth, and leave holes in my mouth
— plaque and cavity decapitating each tooth, call it an oral disease.

If
     Cocaine didn't cause me irritating nose bleeds,

or edge my heart into cardiac arrest.

But it felt like the rush of a sweet and sour candy

                      My tongue would've burst and crack— trade the nose bleed for a sensual tongue tease.

To be slaved by the feeling of pleasure over pain.

                                  no, wait

It's more like the symbiosis of pleasure with pain.

What's the difference?

pop it on my tongue
       smoke it through a blunt
                snort it so my face goes numb

Now,
drop it.
      it's nothing but a smoking gun

Because this sweet pleasure is no longer fucking

fun.