You made me real, and, supposedly, this is what I wanted. This is what we all think we want, at first, us junkies. We're a dime a dozen, and I'm sure we all sound the same. Same lame look in our eyes as we look into a broken sky, same disdain as we step on a cigarette butt on the sidewalk carelessly. We just look like that.
You made me feel like I was the only thing in the world. One solitary object that just shined, and shined, and shined, and burst through with prominent radiation--threatening to all but you. You were alway the strong one. Weren't you?
It hurt going down always, though. The way the back of my throat would sting with such blissfull numbness each time I kissed you ever though I knew your high was soon to fade. You left blisters, I'm sure. Blisters on my cracked lips that were thin with dehydration and longing. How I did not realize at the time, that you were killing me.
You were like cocaine.
You were so sweet, and you were the only thing that mattered. The cars I would have gotten into just to see you--the dicks I would have sucked to have you. The soul I would have sold to have you in me.
It was like New Years all the time. It was like champagne--never enough to go around. Like I was keeping the bottle under my arm, though, and sharing it with no one. That's kind of what you were like. God, how I hated you in the morning.
I'd wake up and curse you, yet as soon as the sun set would go out into these streets pining for your company. Even though I knew in my head the damage that was being incured, I still sought it. Am I such a fool?
Oh, the way you'd bring the dullest night into a burning jumble of extacy and self-confidence. How you'd make everything all fade away... even myself.
Fuck I loved you.
God damn I loved how hard you destroyed my brain and made my senses numb with little spazams of fake delight. Yeah--delight it a good way to explain it. You truly were my earthly delight.
Now we sit on your couch and watch movies months later.
You don't say a word, and neither do I. What could we possibly have to say? I'm numb, you're numb, and we're lost in an oh-so-familiar cloud of marijuana. We watch Road House and you kind of think Patrick Suaze is hot. I curse you under my breath, and I rub at my nose.
The high is gone.
What do I have left? Half a septum and less than a fraction of my former soul. For this I blame you, although I'll never say it to your face. This is all your fault. You are the reason why D.A.R.E. exists.
You are the reason why kids should not expand their minds.
You killed the high.
You used to be my cocaine, now you're only a coffin, that will never contain me.
by: chasemanhattan27
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