Frightening! I appear to have forgotten
the art of turning your stomach
inside out. How curious but
not unexpected. I've been
wildly out of practice,
I admit.

Earlier in life,
when I strived for skin
and bones to be observable;
I've been known to,
here and there,
partake in
flicking the bag.
But mainly I just starved.

The frequency picked up when
the alcohol became cigarettes
and weekends became blurs.
Drinking pure spirits was
a sport and despite my
frail body, I was
a champion.

One time when I was fourteen
I drank two bottles of
cheap whiskey and
slept for two days,
vaguely submerged
in stomach acid
and a little bit of blood,
courtesy of my esophagus.

And then the opioids came
and took me under their
warm, sterile wing.
Since I only took the pills when
the clock struck twelve,
I'd withdraw daily
and sleep.
The price was sprinting towards the ceramic and resting my head on the cool rim
Nuzzling my grey pal before spewing
bile and stomach acid thrice
every morning or scratching
my head and pulling out
fistfuls of hair, waking
up on the floor more
times than I can
truly remember.

I did that for two years
from fifteen to seventeen
with little to no breaks.
When I woke up one
morning, with my head
propped up against
the wall and a puddle
of thick, black gunk,
moved along the
rhythm of my
shallow breath,
warming my chest.
I brushed the blood
off my teeth and
went back to sleep.

Every now and then I
break my streak, mostly
in weak moments when
it's difficult to stay and not
take my leave. But it's
never more than a day
because it stopped being
a relief, now more of
a reminder that I'm
doomed to remain
clean. At least in terms
of opioids, now I mostly just
smoke **** or drink
a little bit too much.
I remain a work in progress.

So I guess I'm out of
practice. But it seems
like that's a good thing.

I woke up wired, heart beat fast,
told myself this time’s the last.
Lines on the sink, shame in my head,
texted some lies, stayed in bed.

The crash is gone but not the mess,
some days I still can’t catch my breath.
I stay away from what the old me craves,
and that part is still digging its own grave.

There were nights I almost called it quits —
and if the ceiling of my old apartment was strong enough,
I wouldn’t be writing this.

I am filled with emotions I cannot bare

Mary is there to make sure I ate
She helps me relax and rids me of self-hate

To help me calm down everyday, she sings me her song
A wonderful tune I hear through the bubbling of my ****
I feel her warmth on my chest
She truly does help me rest

Mary is like no other
Her voice and touch cannot compare
Though she says I’m no bother,
I fear I depend too much on her care

Mary is always willing to provide
Even when I take more from her than I should,
She always gives me her warmth and a place to reside

Since I can remember,
Mary has been by my side
No matter the extent to which I’ve been upset,
She’s always been a helping hand in making me forget

I can no longer hide within her convincing high
I’m starting to think we won’t always see eye to eye
Mary is my best friend
I’d hate to say goodbye

But I’ll always wonder if this relationship should end and finally die

In through the nose

Straight to the brain

That chemical drip

I attempt to refrain

White of the snow

Sparkle of ice

Set it before me?

Doubt i’d think twice

My honey isn’t a sticky cure-for-colds;
She isn't viscous, warm, glistening amber;
My multicolor baby burns---
A thin spicy liquid who coats my throat
And spreads fuel through my body
Until her hellish heat bonds with my blood.
A preview into my afterlife,
For if I can accept this addictive pain,
I will die with ease.

Drown out the memories with another pile of powder
Railing line after line just to rid all the pain
Using these substances every waking hour
Geeked out my mind and feeling insane
Still it feels better then being alone

That glass piece,
fitting so perfectly
into my palm.
Smooth, cold, round,
holding my hand tighter than any ex-lover before.
That ginger kiss upon my lips,
sending smoke to hug my lungs.

Those IV bags dripping of happiness,
shooting euphoria through my bloodstream.

Anything to keep me from feeling numb.
Anything to prolong my inevitable fall,
back to my own personal purgatory.