I am falling,
Yet going nowhere.
Like stagnant water, I attract the mosquitoes of society.
Blood ******* parasites.
Perhaps I have become one of them.
closing my eyes for a few more moments, I briefly acknowledge these thoughts, then slide out of bed.
My stomach turns, and I tip toe to the kitchen, knowing food will only make me sick.
My clumsy hands form my morning dose on the kitchen table.
No hesitation this time, I embrace my old friend.
He sprints through my veins.
Graciously numbing nerves, and blurring lines.
Temporary comfort is better than none, but I am back within a few hours
Staring at another line.
I cannot help but wonder which level of hell I'll be assigned, when I finally insufflate my last line.
I wear the guilt more comfortably than my own skin
I am trapped