I look up at the ceiling of his bedroom.
Lines of laughter plague its surface; they mock me.
They know what we did last night.

Patches of snow are scattered across the floor.
A single, red, lighter lies on his bedside table.
A flame; a feeling of inexplicable ecstasy.

Ecstasy; that's it.

I look out the window of his bedroom.
Tree branches dance just outside; they mock me.
They, too, know what we did last night.

Dark pools under my eyes try to balance out the glassy appearance of dark brown orbs.
A few syringes, used and empty lie by the bed.
A needle; a feeling of maniacal ecstasy.

Ecstasy; that's it.