I have never tried Cocaine.
But if I did I imagine it’d taste something like dark chocolate,
with stewed cherries on top that are too sweet,
bleeding their way into the mess in front of me.
I imagine it would sound like a harmony
of my apprehensive melodies sung to you at midnight,
of the promises you had forgotten to keep –
or the promises you had kept to forget.
I search my tongue for traces of the white lies you fed me,
scraping off the remnant powder
teasing out the memories that lie within the crack.
People warn you not to try it,
that it twists your mind, brings you to impossible highs
and lows. That in it you can lose all trace of yourself,
Tied to the seed it plants in the centre of your mind,
your consciousness unhinged.
I’m talking about cocaine of course,
I’m talking about cocaine.