Not the kind of drug you go to the doctor's office for or pick up at the store.

The kind of drug in dark alleys and abandoned old houses sold by ex-cons and more. 

Not the kind of drug that would fight off a virus and keep you in tip-top shape.

The kind of drug that makes you smile for awhile, but then leaves you with a knee scrape.

Not the kind of drug that leaves you with a band-aid.

The kind of drug that leaves behind a feeling of being betrayed.

Not the kind of drug that heals a cut wrapped in gauze.

The kind of drug that numbs that pain that it most likely caused.

Not the kind of drug that comes in the form of pills.

The kind of drug that you go back to even though it kills.

He's the kind of drug that causes all my pain.

He's the one I go back to even though I don't have anything to gain.

But people aren't medicine and he can't fix the wound in my heart. 

Especially when he was the one who made the incision from the start.