The other day,
a man driving on the wrong side of the road
crashed into a pick up truck, killing himself instantly.
It reminds me of how you'll leave.
Lately, I've found myself drifting onto the left lane
and it makes me wonder about all of the people
that have died this way,
if they just couldn't tell their left from their right
or if they, too, were trying to go back to the past.

Everyone on HP

Because we all have our stories
For the world to be told
Even when times are tough
We do not fold

We have our own kinks and quirks
Which make us our own
For we are all different
All unique, and all bands together this is home

This is why we are all awesome
Some stand out as figure heads
But don't let that put you down
For all your works are awesome and need to be read

We sat on that old pier,
as the others crab-fished by.
I found my hands beneath me,
in an attempt to keep them dry.

I traced the outline of a mountain range
with my tired, tearful eyes,
and the sun pinned me to the concrete wall,
stripping me of any disguise.

The fresh wounds on my shoulder
still oozed their precious blood,
yet we talked of days still to come
and summers, oh so far ahead.

Yet for a moment I almost believed that
what I’d done had been undone
but you struck me with reality
and my walls came tumbling down.

We looked at each other,
in the wild, unsettling sun,
with the sea-surf sparkling blue
and voices of our distant friends

ringing of the new
and interesting discovery that one crab, no, two,
had broken through the green net -
maybe that was you.

There is a man, somewhere, that is about to grab his hair with both hands and nearly rip it out of his skull by the roots because he is having ******* withdrawals after having decided to stop several days ago.
At this very moment, a woman is crying on her porch, her legs drawn to her chest as she mourns the death of her husband the day before by putting a cigarette to her lips for the first time in 3 years, inhaling familiarity.
Tonight, some 20 year old recovering alcoholic put his back to the wall and slowly let himself slide down, sitting with his feet in front of him.
Leaning his head back and closing his eyes, he let out a breath he had been holding for 70 days as he felt the accustomed burn of alcohol in his throat.  
Logically, it is easy for me to process these things because as a child, I was thoroughly educated on the addictive chemicals found within drugs and alcoholic drinks.
Yet, I was never taught about the addictive qualities in a person.
I never knew it was physically possible to ache from the soles of my feet to the top of my head because your arms were medicinal for my limbs.
I was not aware that my teeth would begin to chatter when a year had gone by since your finger last ran across my bottom lip.
I was not ready for the nights where I would stay awake until sunrise because I could not sleep without hearing your voice before I closed my eyes.
I may not have injected heroine into my system but you injected love straight into my bloodstream and there is no amount of water that will allow me to wash this out and be clean.
You are a tempting bottle of whiskey that sits in my kitchen every day after I say I'm going to stop drinking,
and even smoking 4 packs a day will not rid me of the withdrawals of the faint smell of cigarettes on your clothes when you were asleep next to me.
If there were a rehab for me to go to, I would go,
because this habit will be a lot harder to break than biting my nails.
-c.g