addiction is a tricky thing like that.
i tell everyone
i've been clean for 4 years.
truth is,
i've relapsed every one of those years and
for once,
i'm not proud of
the things i've done to numb myself.
yesterday,
i got a whiff of the perfume i wore at
the peak of my dependence.
i gave in.
i don't think i really tried to stop myself.
i was looking for an excuse to fall back into orbit,
each day revolving around
getting my next fix,
not this pit in my stomach.

one time,
i took all the pills scattered through my room and
lined them up on
my childhood bed,
counting and
recounting and
counting once more for good measure.

the rattling of pill bottles makes me nostalgic.

i wonder who i could've been without the
sickly sweet lies,
entire lives buried beneath ignorant comfort,
if i had taken the time to know myself
rather than
sitting back and
missing out on who i could have been.

addiction is
living with the reality of rotting flesh and
damaged bones,
yet thinking of it as nothing other than a part of yourself.

addiction is
pushing the pessimism out of the inevitable
because
you're still naive enough to believe that
it won't be the thing to **** you.