One taste and bang pounds the hammer
Sitting patiently seething with bedside manner...

Staring at the fix in my hands
I've been lost in a wonderful fantasy
It was never the plan but I developed schemes
I'm fighting the disease that wants me to drown
Plotting my escape when not a soul is around
Hoping never to be found again

With one decision I could let go
Mixing a cocktail of saliva and bliss
For one last show
Dancing in a wonderland wrought by disgrace
Leaving no trace after the chase
I'll finally close my eyes
As death's scythe sings me lullabies
The nightmare defaced

All the lies wrapping around my throat
The waste choking me, wishing to leave my lungs
Then I die
But life's mysteries just so happened by

The moment of decision
Fades to remission

Whispers it's leave on the breeze again
To return in a moment's time

"Tell yourself I love you when I die."
Since then, burning my back on artificial heat has become my November addiction
The snow falling outside has been there for a week; it's getting old
And god, **** the man who invented movie theaters to take away from the magnificent show of the sky every morning and most nights

It will hit soon: the withdrawal of all the adventurous, summery memories our brains do not contain
We climbed a mountain, the literal ******
Seasonal affective disorder to the tee
No, don't drink that tea
Daughters playing in the background of a last kiss of a warm breath before it freezes

How delusional:
Allowing myself to fall asleep with the thought of March and you still underneath my fingernails
I wouldn't dare to crawl out, for it would be pointless to replace dirt with dirt
Where are your associates at?
Your support system is nothing short of the pipes of a flushing toilet in the dead of January
But here I am, supporting you with the twigs the trees call branches this time of year

Under the bed, missing four pairs of slippers
Too late to keep your toes moving
Slowly fewer mountains are climbed
Less smiles are shot anywhere near a window
And you're still breathing as far as I can tell, but the intense headache that forms when you are within a hundred-foot vicinity of myself is purely physical
Take that in

This is the bad part
I can feel it coming
I can feel it every time

It's almost a relief
Like falling down a hundred foot cliff
The first ninety-nine feet aren't so bad
Exhilarating, in a way
But those last few seconds
When you know you're going to hit the ground
And you know how much it's going to hurt
That's the worst
The knowing
Because you've fallen down this same cliff
Countless times before

So when I finally slam into the ground
And the air is knocked out of my lungs
Lying on my back, staring at the sky but not really seeing it
I can rest for a while
Because the falling is so
Exhausting
Once you've stopped

I guess we're addicted to those first ninety nine feet
Even though we know what awaits us
At the bottom

Eventually, we'll pick ourselves up
And try to collect all the pieces that broke off  
Though of course we'll miss some

Then we start the long trek
Back to the top again

Addicted.

Every month.

This month it's been every week.

I can feel myself learning.

I've learned to rebuild.

Rebuild. Relapse. Rebuild. Relapse.

But when will I stop going back.

Relapse.

-InTheWorldOfCyn

It's back. The thick black tendrils have woven their way through fresh mutilated skin. They've gripped bone and rooted themselves into a skeletal disaster. A permanent venoumas suit imbedded beneath the surface.