I’m bad for you. You hate me for what I do but you know you just can’t give me up. It’s not that easy, I’m a drug. What’s worse? I know I’m your Crystal Meth. I know exactly what I do to you and how you can’t let me go and… I love it. I love how I can make you do things you’d often think irrational. I love how you keep coming back for more.

So please keep me for all your rainy & sunny days. Don’t even think you’re better off without me. You know you wouldn’t be. You won’t know what to do, the world will be too sharp, too acute, too chronic. Without me, all your world’s problems will immediately condense into a blinding, searing, disorienting blur. I can see you know, just grabbing at air trying to get a grip on anything. It’s pathethic. Amusing.

Besides, why would you try to kick the addiction? You’re flying with me. Taken steps you never thought you could. You’ve taken off, you’ve landed. Crash-landed, sometimes but it all felt so damn good. Maybe it’s the rush you love and I’m just that little bit of concentrated nerve you shoot up right before. So maybe… I’m not that addictive, maybe you just found a new way to live with me in your blood.

Here’s the clincher. I’m leaving you. Right now, I know, the very thought of me sends you running, racing, for the edge of the cliff. Centre-stage, baby. All yours for the taking. I’m just waiting for the wreckball to ascend. Then they’ll come and force me, the Morphine, back into your veins to ease the pain. The dizzying effects will be total Ecstacy. Then you’ll come to the sad realisation that I really was the source of your power and that it was so easy for me to leave.

So beg me to stay.