1 hour ago
listen and breathe... In your narcotic-induced languor I remember how you’d struggle to keep your eyes open. Your half-coherent rambling about a child that could have been, lost inside a car, 3 months in, on your way to the purveyor of evanescent dreams. Barely a whisper, barely a slur, you'd wax lyrical on everything you’ve lost.
You’d have pet names for each and every needle you stuck in your arm. There was Bukowski, the absolute misogynist, who loathed and loved women equally. Aptly named because it was this old and blunt needle of last resort, which you kept on your bed head. It would always cause you the most pain. Then there was Nabokov, which you first used when you were 16, in between P.E. and Lit. You weren’t lured, so you say, to your first dealer’s house. You came willingly, goaded by this childlike wonder for the illicit. However, your favourite would always be Sylvia, which your local pharmacist would supply to you for free, out of concern that you’re sharing needles with others. Named because of its violent ease in finding the next available vein. Kept in a dusty bell jar, you'd macabrely joke that it was the only thing stopping you from putting your head in an oven, like its namesake, should you wish to end it all. I’d watch how you’d get lost in a dreamy-eyed splendour, intoxicated, between the living and dying.
There were times when you were sober enough or just on that peak, while painting your nails you’d wonder aloud if you loved heroin more than me. I kept it to myself but I knew that it was a battle that I could never win. Our junkie tableau forever etched in my mind.
You were always a child of the stars, not meant for this earth. Sleep child, you were never just another junkie.
#junkiediaries #urbanspelunking #tunnel #decay #drugs #addiction #subway