He was drugs and drugs were him. They were circling through his system as oxygen would. He floated among the clouds as the drugs suffered the day. When the drugs came back home and put their head on the pillow, he came falling from those clouds, crashing against the bed where his body sleeps. The drugs then get up and leave, leaving him alone. He would toss and turn.
Toss and turn.
Toss and turn.
No sleep. He wanted the drugs to come back and rock his aching mind and body back to sleep. He wanted the to come back and distract his mind from those horrifying thoughts and memories that circulated in his head. His mind gave him not one moment of peace.
6 hours of this.
No, he could not do it, but he must. He must. He needs a break from drugs, to show himself and others he did not need them, but he loved them so very much. They were the only things who truly understood him. They were the only things who didn’t judge him. They even took over his body when he asked them to allow him to escape the earthly chains of hell.
Hell. Hell on earth is where he lived. He knew he must get out, but if he left, drugs would be left alone. No one would go talk to them. No one would be friends, then lovers with them as he had become. He could not leave his beloved drugs in this world alone.
But he needs to get out, leave this world for another. He romanticizes it. It must be a bittersweet end. He imagines tasting a bittersweet taste as he leaves this world. If only he was a dog. They have the life: just lie in the sun all day then play and be fed. Not having a single worry in the world. Or a cat, just get drugs and get pampered. It is okay to be a bitch if you are a cat. You are a cat.
It must be nice to have someone look out for you. People around stopped caring. All of them. They did not care what he did with himself. They found out he had started going out with Mary Jane, they all stopped talking to him. Leaving him alone. Then he started whoring himself out to Acid and Shrooms and Molly. He had a brief encounter with Chris Dolmeth and Mescaline. He then fell in love with several Hashishes: the Afghan, the Nepalese, and the Moroccan. These were his friends, because all the other ones had left. These were his family, because the others did not give a shit. These were his role models, because no one else seemed to show an interest and look out for him.
He should leave. Yes, he should. He did not want to be alone though. He called them all up, begging them to come over. After calling and waiting for an hour, they were all there. His friends. His family. Drugs.
He began to caress and make love to them. Allowing them to enter his body and stay there. He was in his clouds. The drugs had their body. He was drugs and drugs were him.
He placed the metal cylinder into his mouth. The metal tasted bittersweet. He muttered the incomprehensible words, he did not even understand what he had said, but he knew they understood. He closed his eyes. He let a breath out.