libertine
03-25-2009, 11:09 PM
There is nothing more immediate than a shot of dope. Most people live their whole lives never knowing there are secret intricacies into the alteration of the chemicals in the body, most people will never wake up smelling that ghastly death-ridden scent of the body rejecting its diminishing supply of drugs out of its pores, the settling feeling that you're going to be there for a while, and time is now your enemy. Eternity is not something easily comprehended by anyone claiming to be human, but it is known in the hearts and minds of some certain creative people. Its grasp reaches far into the infinite and back again bearing the gifts of the afterlife, of somnolent surprise.
I have had many kicks in my day, I know the feeling the night before when the debate was won in favor of one big shot instead of splitting it in two to save some for tomorrow when the stash is gone, I know the bed-ridden toss and turn with sweat focusing itself forming tiny rivulets breathing in unison on your back and chest, I know the call of hope when the misery is set free, I know the ride there, in stale clothes, gripping bills like lottery tickets, smiling while choking down a cigarette, I know the cycle, in many times again.
But this time it is different, I have been on suboxone for 6 months exactly now, and recently took on a small habit, consisting of a growing scale of shots over a fortnight. I took two shots before 12 am, and knew I had hell to pay come 6, so at 5 I fell asleep, at 8 I woke up smelling like old memories and feeling everything all at once, my eyes opened up, searing tears flew, pain flared in all it's forlorn eminence, with the winter chill in my bones and teeth clattering back and forth. I lay there until my head hurt from the pool of blood collecting in the back of it. I get up, and get out my spoon and bag with tiny pieces of tar turned into powder from its contact with oxygen, it is the only thing that has saved me all day. I have just shot some and missed, the red flare of the skin and raised lump staring at my chest, and even still the perspire halted, my throat tasted familiar, I have never know this kind of relief from this little, it was literally tan where shots of tar are black, and 30 units, and I am not fully well, but I am hungry, the definitive sign for the body being tricked back into its zombie state.
I have had many kicks in my day, I know the feeling the night before when the debate was won in favor of one big shot instead of splitting it in two to save some for tomorrow when the stash is gone, I know the bed-ridden toss and turn with sweat focusing itself forming tiny rivulets breathing in unison on your back and chest, I know the call of hope when the misery is set free, I know the ride there, in stale clothes, gripping bills like lottery tickets, smiling while choking down a cigarette, I know the cycle, in many times again.
But this time it is different, I have been on suboxone for 6 months exactly now, and recently took on a small habit, consisting of a growing scale of shots over a fortnight. I took two shots before 12 am, and knew I had hell to pay come 6, so at 5 I fell asleep, at 8 I woke up smelling like old memories and feeling everything all at once, my eyes opened up, searing tears flew, pain flared in all it's forlorn eminence, with the winter chill in my bones and teeth clattering back and forth. I lay there until my head hurt from the pool of blood collecting in the back of it. I get up, and get out my spoon and bag with tiny pieces of tar turned into powder from its contact with oxygen, it is the only thing that has saved me all day. I have just shot some and missed, the red flare of the skin and raised lump staring at my chest, and even still the perspire halted, my throat tasted familiar, I have never know this kind of relief from this little, it was literally tan where shots of tar are black, and 30 units, and I am not fully well, but I am hungry, the definitive sign for the body being tricked back into its zombie state.