Needles and syringes;
Heroine, my beautiful medication.
White robe, blue belt,
I was loving my profession of alcohol and drug indulgence.

Pipe ready,
my growing shadow, aided by the lighting from the burning flame below,
silently watching on;
“One hit and I will be perfect,” begs my ****** soul.

I have watched the moon every night.
Witnessed as she comes and goes.
Atimes, she is full and bright;
at others, she is nothing but a waning dull curve,
travelling leisurely across the sky;
Her face, a dire one,
filled with laughter and mockery
as she wonders what went wrong with me.
30 nights and 12months of 11years,
I too, an answer I have failed to find.

Last night, there was this darkness,
and all I can remember is the music that accompanied it.
Dark themed and suicidal,
Yet, it is the closest I have come to solitude in so many years.
Tonight I am back again, bent over my last dosage for the night.
“Dosage.” Indeed!
The moon is not in sight.
I wonder if my friend, if she is one,
Has forgotten about me tonight.
But there she is again.
Maybe she isn’t taunting me;
Maybe she is as confused as I am,
Or is she also lost?
Why can’t she seem to find her way home?
Oh the ramblings of a somber mind.