To reassure herself that she's still hot
each frantic pick-up butts against the next.
Each night, out clubbing, shaking what she's got
Her need for love's unsatisfied with sex.
Each binge just makes her crave another time
but with another lover, not this one.
Each morning sun reveals another line
and introspection never does get done.
The same old stimulus just can't excite
the oxytocin circuits like before.
Realization's dawning, night by night
that what she needs is different, not more.
No one-night lover can assuage her pain
the way the needle snuggles with her vein.
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