Life is a Drug

Hunched over a table, I look at the glass
With the powder lined up, waiting for me.
I plug a nostril, bend over,
Take a line. I’ll be fine. It’s only life.
The sting is in my brain, the freckled
Attack stains me and bloodies my eyes and nose.
But it’s okay. It’s only life.
I can’t breathe. My chest clinches.
I do another line, stand up, and clench.
Life is best when you don’t let it get away
I say as I launch myself out the door.

Life speeds past me. I watch it as the colors
Blur and
Make no sense
At all. Juts around
and all
I can see
Is randomness
Hidden with life’s
Agenda and Activity.
But then

Reality is life, and the drug can’t last, the synthetic joy I felt is gone.
I sit, bloody nose staunched by my hands, as I rest my red eyes.
Life is a drug, and I take it often, as much as I can until I break.
But with time, the body gives and the soreness of over activity sets in.
The soul begins to wonder if this is the path, or if I am staining it for destruction.
I’d rather be destroyed tonight, high on life, than to live decades longer and never known what life was.
No, perhaps I will try to hang on to at least one more decade.

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