A natural narcotic,
A mood change.
Like ecstasy or cocaine
Except it remains
And the user is never the same.
The ecstatic, euphoric high does not stray
Despite the lack of a hit;
she is now so incredibly witty,
Entertaining and philosophically audacious
Like Oscar Wilde.
She becomes a creative platform;
Ecstatically bleeding willowy words
From the depths of her profound soul.
She whimsically clasps the silver biro
As she impulsively imprints esoteric words
On her own black and white orchid paper
That she hides within;
The ink sometimes showing on her skin.
She desires to remain in the golden, nocturnal maze
And fears the return of tsunamis of pain.
A revelation, the real reason why
She cried at Amy Winehouse’s death
Similar to how she watched herself cry
When she listened to Tears Dry On Their Own for the first time.
She has a newfound admiration for Jimi Hendrix,
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