Higher

The moment of creation is a drug
A million little hits add up forever
Building a tolerance up, slug by slug,
Requiring then more and more endeavor
To get the same damn high you used to get.
A couplet breeds a limerick, which will
In turn breed sonnets, octave and sestet,
And villanelles, and further verse forms still
Until the mind is covered in a haze
Of decomposing poems all arranged
In order to extract the high, and raise
The sluggard mind from where it's self-estranged.
Cold turkey only starts the cycle over
The mind's a subtly persistent rover.