Methface

A poem about using meth

At first I called them chicken pox,
but they never went away.
The small red scabs and open sores,
I think my face is stuck this way.

I'm losing weight quick;
oh yeah, that's hot!
I feel stimulated and happy.
Wait, now I'm not.

I haven't seen you in a few days.
Why do you say it looks like years?
Um, you act like I've been gone forever.
I've always been right here.

Anyway, I found this great shit.
Well, my boyfriend gave me some.
He hooks me up, takes care of me.
My heart tells me he's the one.

All these damn insects crawling,
I gotta itch.
The cops are coming!
Here, hold this!

That's not the cops?
Good! So why are you walking away?
Come give me a hug.
Come sit down and stay.

It's not contagious, see?
It's not an STD.
My boyfriend still kisses me.
It's only methface*.

*An interesting fact I just learned: the Oxford Dictionary is adding the word methface to its 2015 edition.