So guess whose back?

Yep, it’s me again -

not your regular garden grown green friend,

not your taxable alcoholic mind-send,

I’m that poison you’d escaped and started to mend,

and I’m here to tempt you and make your mind bend.

 

You thought you were over me, down from that tree,

but this is why it’s called an addictive personality.

You’re a catastrophe,

reaching for me uncontrollably.

I’m comparable to Dick Dastardly,

making you giggle like Muttley.

But I’m not speed or ecstasy.

No; I’ll make you catatonic,

harder and deeper than supersonic chronic,

faster than sonic,

like hydroponic gin and tonic

and before you know it

your face starts to show it

because it only takes one hit

before you gurn and talk shit

and I know your homunculus wants you to stop it

but after that last bit,

I’ve got you to ignore it,

‘cos you’re deep in this new trip;

which is lonelier and far more depraved,

leaving you in a stonier catatonia, from which it’s hard to be saved.

 

And as my hazy shpongle takes over your mind,

you trip back to what happened the previous time

and then the fear sets in and you perspire ‘n teeth grind;

with the enjoyment of your trip completely left behind.

And it’s at this point the door clicks and you turn to find

your girlfriend watching you, and she’s not fine.

She glares and glowers at you like you’ve committed a sin

while you sit surrounded by lines of Ketamine

then she turns and walks out; you’ve ruined everything.

Your head starts to spin from the surging adrenaline,

but your far too withdrawn from the lack of serotonin

so you let her strop off and throw the towel in.

But tomorrow it’ll hurt you and you’ll turn to me again.

Now you know why they call me regret-amine.