You mistake drugfucked sex for intimacy,
holding me as I come down hard - scattered
and shuddering with MDMA withdrawals.

You mistake the MDMA for yourself
and I can't be bothered to correct you;
we are only scratching an itch
and calling it a relationship.

I'd say no harm, no foul
to soothe a cliche-starved heart
but in time, this will break us both.

For now, in this tight moment
before the dawn breaks and the light
reveals me for what I am,
I prefer to be deceptively whole
and pretend to love your lips,
instead of your pills.

a/n: being two-faced is my favorite hobby.