You pricked my finger
Out oozed nostalgia-thickened blood
Your presence brought on a comatose anesthia 
My eyes grew weary 
With my eyelids
Growing heavy
"An overdose on happiness.
Your failure count was running too high.
Your confidence was far too low."
Those last words dripped out ever so slow
"A transplant is needed, your heart is infected.
If the love spreads to your veins and your brain
you'll be a dead man half past 5 o'clock."
The IV served bittersweet nicotine, the only addiction stronger than you