Lovaholic

Love is intoxicating.
My heart, suffocating.
Gasping for its last breath.
It puts it’s hope in its last drink.
Going to the bar, with chances of emotional death.
There, ordering shots of something pink.
One, two…nineteen, twenty.
Getting tipsy, enjoying a drink called Zita.
Seemed like he knew what he was doing, having plenty.
The taste went from very sweet to kind of bitter.
Only if he knew what she was capable of but he should’ve.
Drinking more and more, the night is still young.
He didn’t want to leave, not that he could’ve.
This drink got him feeling hella sprung.
His stomach starts to hurt as my heart is still pumping down the pink shot.
He runs off to the bathroom and cuddles up with a pooping pot.

Nauseated by the pain Zita brings.
Vomiting tears, it’s the end for him.
Dreams crushed of future wedding rings.
Feeling all this with his head in the toilet rim.
She didn’t care about him, not one bit.
Seeing triple, one truth and two lies.
Zita enjoys leaving them in toilets like their pieces of shit.
Not caring if the consumer lives or dies.
She does this to every man he wasn’t special.
So heed my words because it’s coming from the heart.
Don’t fall for “drinks” like Zita, you better be careful.
Because some “drinks” love acting, they just playing their part.
Don’t get hooked like my heart did because love is Intoxicating.
The feeling is like Asthma, forever my heart will be suffocating.

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