Inventive ways to endure poppycock

I’ve never been exposed to actual heroin
but I can imagine what being addicted to it must be like
because I know him.
He’s the closest I’ll probably ever get and he is the fucking worst thing that has ever happened to me and yet, I cannot deny the most beautiful escape that anyone could have.
How can a person be real and imaginary at the same fucking time?
And how come I keep backsliding forever, if he isn’t a fucking drug?
Well, the only things that have stronger holds on me are sugar, caffeine, and nicotine, and hell, I’ve been abusing myself with those for decades longer and just meeting him for a short time, tasting him, handcuffing him, licking him, pissing all over him, yelling and cutting and slapping him and kissing him- especially kissing him, ruined my whole fucking life. And I knew it would.
He even said it would, everyone has seen an anti-heroin commercial, c’mon.
And what sucks is he’s found another drug to indulge in and get drunk on that I’ve actually recovered from.
I almost died using religion so even I can’t go back to it but he’s on it, and he’s high from it and he honestly looks even prettier than he did when I used to watch him sleep… I want us both to be happy, healthy, and free, and successful and for years and years I go
without us
noticing each other, even though I feel him on the ether
and I know he feels me
side effects
fucking lingering
but getting better with haze and after 1000s of days
if I see him, even in a photograph my body heats, my tongue swells, my eyes bug and glow, my hands clam and ball into fists ’cause I’m mad my hand isn’t around his fucking neck.
I’m mad I can’t hear him lose his breath.
I’m mad that today is just another day we exist but not together. Fucker.
And if I want to stay on the wagon I gotta forget all over again, son of a bitch.
I gotta plant my feet on the ground and feel the earth under them and keep saying the word now, now, now in my mind.
This is now.
I have to forgive myself again and again and again because he’s not in my arms or dead.
If that ain’t hooked baby I don’t know what is.
He’s my obsession and has chosen to not be a loved one.
Now. Now. Now.
Feet on the ground.
I’ve never been exposed to actual heroin but I can imagine what being addicted to it must be like because I know him. I forgive me again and again and again.