Fuck, it’s happening.

No control, no control, no control

it’s like my brain sent out a system failure message
and this attack on my body is the alarm

signifying impending doom.

 

My heart starts fighting the second I gasp for air,
punching me from the inside

hard and repeatedly.

Everything around me is spinning,

and as the tears start to stream

I know the countdown has started.

 

My body is trying so hard to rid itself
of the poison I put in it.

I hate every second of it.

I’m stuck in this fear that consumes
every last part of me;

an explanation of the fear might help

but fuck that—pills work faster than therapy.

 

Shuffling through every drawer,
desperation starts to take over.

Find the fucking bottle

You fucking idiot, where are the pills?
It’s the only solution—

I cut myself off as I fumble
over the orange tube

that my bars of gold call home.
The Doctor said take one,

fuck that, take 4.

A wave of calmness engulfs me,
and I fall into a deep slumber.

 

“Wake up, Keeks”

Fuck, she’s here.

“What happened this time?”

“You realized you missed class today?”

“Do you think it’s cool to get high on a Tuesday?”
I roll over to look her in the eyes but

suddenly, I burst into laughter.

 

I don’t give a fuck what day of the week it is,
and neither does my addiction.