Addicted Vacation

I sit by the pool, sipping a frozen drink, fidgety  
Wrestling down the urge to find, borrow, steal a laptop  
 
But her words were clear, "Honey we're going on vacation ..."  
Time to lock the twisted poet, mad writer away in the closet  
 
Doesn't she know that this is breathing for me, can my soul hold it's breath that long  
 
If I was jonesing meth, crack, alcohol, or nicotine  
There would be therapy, medications, or an adhesive patch  
 
If only I could find a scrap of paper, a forgotten Bic  
Sneak away to the Men's Room and feverishly scribble  
 
Capture these thorny butterflies that encircle my head  
Granting me piece that I didn't miss a glimpse of my etheral spirit  
 
"Pass the sun tan lotion" she says, enjoying her vacating of the tired, dull routine  
I comply with trembling, shaking hands, my face ghostly white  
 
Unable to relax, plagued with prickly distraction, I close my eyes  
But it only gets worse, now the evil images become so much more vivid  
 
With my other senses heightened, they all conspire against me, adding to this infernal craving  
 
"I'm going back to the room to shower", she pronounces, "Are you coming?"  
I nod yes and that it will be just a few more moments, turning over on the beach chair  
 
Then finally she packs up and leaves, giving me my chance  
I leap from my chair, seize a cocktail napkin and assualt the waitress for her pen  
 
Huddled over like a fiendish libertine, my hand fiddles, scratches, and masturbates the orgasm of blue inky cum  
 
Then I feel the disapproving eyes, I look up  
She is standing above me, eclipsing the sun, shaking her head