I've always been a good boy,
Straight A student, combed and brushed
The epitome of what I'm supposed to be
The prime example of acceptable behavior
Much too scared of the disapproving eyes
To even think of anything less
I've never laid finger on those glass bottles,
Let alone your plants, your powders, your needles
Killing off neurons for the fun of witnessing death,
Escaping the ball and chain of conscious thought,
Chasing the ability to finally let it all go,
Not quite my cup of cyanide-laced tea
I prefer a milder brand, kick though it has,
My tea is black with cruel intentions,
But trust you'll see your reflection smiling back.
It's seasoned with do you still love me, honey,
And will you love me again if I give you some sugar.
And, by god if the sweetness isn't sickening.
I'm an addict, though not to tangible substance
Rather, my withdrawal kicks in at your departure
The cold air nips my body right where you just were,
And the shivers seem to displace and rattle my heart.
As the chill spreads it's way through my veins,
My convulsions tangle my nerve-ending tracts
Part with me not, my sweetest cinnamon stick.
Let's tangle our heartstrings and get lost in a knot,
Forget everything else, in favor of chasing this high.
Let their rumors be fact, let their judgement be envy,
Let the world understand what even we don't know.
Blur the line between absolute and gradient hue.
Stain me with deep and rich earthy colors,
Let drip down my chest your most honest embrace,
Cover me with tea leaves and sticky kiss marks,
Leave me unrecognizable as the canvas I once was,
Brand me with your signature and brushstroke,
Create devastatingly beautiful art by coincidence.
Tea may be better for you than coffee or sodas,
Not because of any nature of the drinks themselves,
But because of the natural sweeteners we use,
Busy bees' clover honey and fresh cane sugar,
Over factory-made splenda and heavy cream.
Choke it all down and tell yourself it's a diet drink.
Sugar is sugar, my friend, and I've had my fair share,
My cavity-ridden smile stretched across my face.
It's a safe addiction I say, today's third cup in hand,
I could always be obsessed with something worse,
And anyway, it's all just addiction to consistency.
An obsession with knowing exactly what comes next.
I wish you could see through my Earl Grey glasses,
How the mahogany tones compliment your eyes,
And how sweet you taste on my eager tongue.
You'd never doubt, never fear inadequacy again.
I'd stir you right in with the water and leaves,
And sweeten you both with sugar and honey.
