Counter tops

Sterile, alcohol free sanitizer

Bare feet sweating

Sticking to the glassy

White porcelain floors,

Blood soaked rags in the trashcan

Peaking above the metal box

Sneaking looks

Mocking my pathetic state

The needle digs deeper into my right arm

Small plastic tubes tickling my shoulder as they

Crawl up to the small rack that

Follows me from room to room

The bag slowly dripping

Pushing weight

Bubbling inside my abdomen

The blurry molecules of light tickle the tips of my

static lips

my spine twisting

posture arching

Slowly I melt to an almost horizontal state

Craving a hand

The sensation of touch

To make an entrance

push the hair from my forehead

Or fingers to trace my back

And pull me upright

The flicker of fluorescent

While time perpetually lulls on

I do my best to grip onto reality

Drip

Into purgatory

Slipping from a sleep

“I’ll be home later”

I didn’t have time to grab shoes

He stayed in bed, peaceful,

didn’t even lift his head

Wiping away as I speed mercilessly towards the red lights

the rain slips through the cracks of the night

I let the four am turn into nine

And I wait for him

To make time.