It's not always the sight of needles that triggers it. Sometimes it's the sight of blood. Sometimes the smell of ammonia, of hospitals or rubbing alcohol. Sometimes even just remembering the sight of the room, the blood, the needle. Even remembering, even just talking about it, makes me queasy. That thumping in the heart and the head, the blood pressure rising and then the sudden fall, like an elevator cut loose from cables.

I am dizzy. I am sick. I am trying to breathe more deeply, trying pinch my leg to bring me back, trying to find a place to sit down before I crumble to the floor or tumble like a felled tree in the forest of people around me. A veil creeps over my face and head, the dark takes over, and then

it no longer matters how I fall

or where I land

or who is around

I am floating in the sky

the sea

the dreaming

the dark.

——1:00am.——

i feel empty

TIRED

my arms hurt.

just throbbing, dull agony.

but i just want to write.

please just let me fucking write.

oh but!

first i should say

please excuse the style of this piece

drugs change writers

drink changes poets

heart-break changes—

well, you get the picture.

AHA!

finally.

now i am starting to come up.

finally.

it’s fading.

finally.

i can write.

the flavor of the week

the drug of the day

the chemical of the night

is dextromethorphan!

change of pace i figure.

my favorite

my backup

my ennui

my last choice

my—

“i can’t handle being sober tonight”

it’s the only drug

whose side effects

include contradictions

and forgotten convictions.

it’s the only time i’ve really had any drug

do anything besides numb me.

which is—SCARYCRAZYAMAZING—

but in such an incredible way.

once more,

dxm is a funny drug

it doesn’t envelop you in euphoria like mdma

it doesn’t numb the ubiquitous pain that everyone feels

but no one talks about.

(like painkillers,

!!!

my first love.)

dxm?

to be specific

is a dissociative.

but that isn’t really the best way to describe it.

it’s close though

because DXM rends soul from body

it RIPS soul from body

you are no longer you

you are

just

*blank*

it’s hard to put into words

but i guess maybe it’s a bit like

you are on the outside for the first time

looking in at yourself

looking at your life

your health

your house

your job

your dog

your girlfriend

your fucking car

and realizing

how petty and unimportant your desires are

your wants

your aspirations

your greed

your lust

your envy

because DXM

is a drug that kills your ego

and i bet

now you are thinking

“FREUD”

we all know him

all your problems?

SEX. (or)

YOU WANT TO SEX YOUR MUM.

we make jokes,

but fuck

he was

and will always be a genius.

he had his moments

as we all do

the rantings and ramblings of insomniacs

the racing thoughts and ravings of madmen

even Joyce

that fuck

with Ulysses

with his stream-of-consciousness

(fuck that book.)

it all means something.

but to the point

Freud with his id, ego and superego.

found what not many of us will ever admit

realizing that here it is, finally!

that fucking monster

that parasite

that thing!

that is devouring us from the inside out.

that fucking monster

that parasite

that thing!

that IS US from the inside out.

and it’s nice.

to be able to think about these things

to be able to write these things

to be able to read these things

to be able to do drugs

to be able to tell drugs to fuck off

to drink yourself yellow

to smoke yourself black

to be saved by religion

to be devoured by religion

to be able to exist.

maybe that’s the important thing?

i don’t even know

if my pieces have important things

to say anymore.

well.

——6:00am.——

i’m coming down now.

it’s not a bad feeling.

DXM, thankfully, has an afterglow.

but hangovers aren’t just diarrhea and puke.

they can be much worse.

if you don’t keep a hold of yourself

if you don’t have a firm grip on your soul

your hangover will be in a padded white room

rather than a hard, porcelain one.

i’m telling you

when you reach that fork in the yellow wood

don’t take this fucking path

fuck whether or not it’s been traveled on.

i feel like bit by bit

i’m stripping away

the paint and and lacquer

the flowery wallpaper and lonely drywall

that covers what’s inside me

what is there

even i

don’t know.

thank god at least

tonight i won’t have to mug the sandman

and thank god at least

i’m done tearing wallpaper down for the day.

i’m afraid

that it’s ugly under there.

but mostly i’m terrified

that it’s...

[omitted].

take as needed for pain

brought the codeine fog

busily ignored

as I shucked the work along

until I saw my eyes fade

and my bemusing coworker

still express concern

"Don't pass out!"

black was all I could see

almost

as I staggered

over to a wooden bench

to sit and consider

seeing more than darkness.

10,982,765,423 people on the planet

and an infinite number of galaxies and realities

paradoxically co-existing in the same infinite universe,

but this little planet thinks it's special.

Correction, the planet IS special,

and we-people only think we are,

even as we look skyward,

catalog our evidence,

proving our slivers of understanding,

searching for the key to unlocking infinity,

in energy, because that's the beginning and ending.

So, standing on the top of a skyscraper,

it's the color of copper aged and oxygenated,

and towering like a skeleton that's all ribs to the tip,

a ten by ten platform with no walls, opened to the wind,

when the sun sets, brings out the night that goes on so far,

then notice one light shining brighter with time, and eyes the star

suddenly dancing like a firefly caught in a tiny glass jar,

growing larger and larger the longer these eyes linger,

until the dance slows and then stills, feel the tingle,

as it settles in the sky, big enough to rival the moon,

hanging fate and future in the owl's "whooo?"

as it shoots a ball of fire at our planet,

and no defenses of ours could stop it.

But it wasn't a weapon,

we thought when we found it,

growing to love the star as much as the moon,

for the gift of technology and plans to build,

one giant tower, we assumed to communicate,

all of our efforts had failed up to that date,

we were such star-eyed hopeful idiots,

they read us, and manipulated us,

till we built their tower and turned it on,

our planet hasn't seen a larger celebration,

like all of the others rolled into one,

till the power got sucked up in an instant,

electric, magnetic, nuclear, every last iota of it,

in the time it took to blink after flipping the switch,

leaving our planet in the deepest of darkness,

helpless to watch the star dance away,

as the atmosphere began to deteriorate,

assaulted by solar winds and cosmic rays,

so, we'll all be dead in a matter of days,

and I'm etching this tale in stone,

because someone should be warned,

of the energy-stealing wayward star.

- M.E.

201506110900

The club was loud. So loud, in fact, that her motherly ability to tune-out was overrun.

It was cloudy, it was dark, and it was LOUD. All these things gave her a splitting headache- one that made all her previous ones seem dull in comparison.

All she had wanted was to have a little fun. To have a one night stand with some young hunk, to maybe do something with him her husband wasn't willing to do anymore. Sex with him had become boring- the same tasteless shit every time. It sickened her.

The loud music, foggy room… it would've been great if this was the kind of stuff she enjoyed. But she didn't, and it was all starting to get tedious.

For what seemed like the millionth time that night, she questioned her decision on going to the club. Every time she came here, she regretted it. Well, until she met her boy toy for the night. But it looked like she wasn't going to find one tonight.

She gulped down the rest of her drink, slumped the empty glass back onto the counter, and turned way to walk straight into someone's chest.

Startled, she looked up to see a young face. It was unmarked, unlike her husbands. Much handsomer.

Looking at his face, everything else melted away. Her eyes honed in and the sounds settled down into background music.

"You're not leaving already, are you?" He said, chuckling and guiding her back to the bar. She could hear his voice crisp and clear, as if sound hadn't been pounding into her head before.

"Depends." She responded slyly. "Are you going to make me want to stay?"

He looked at her. Just her- nothing else. "What's your name, anyway?"

She hesitated, but something within her, some deep feeling, made her want to tell him. "Veronica."

"I'll call you V." He motioned for a bartender. "Two drinks."

She ran her hand up his leg and licked her lipstick stained lips. "And what would yours be?"

"David."

"Well, David. It looks like you're gonna score tonight."

The bartender set their drinks on the counter.

"Drink." David said, tilting his head back and taking it down in a single gulp.

She was drunk, and she felt great. Everything she worried about- bills, her kids, her marriage- forgotten. This was her high, and she loved it.

David pulled her through the crowd and out the grimy front doors of the club, into the dead parking lot. It was packed with cars, but everyone was inside the club, dancing or drinking.

She stumbled and fell against a white Ford, setting the car alarm off. The ear splitting sound reverberated through the parking lot. She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears.

Suddenly she was in the back seat of a truck, David on top of her. She struggled to take off her top in the cramped space, and ended up ripping it off over her head, none too gracefully.

She heard a belt buckle and looked down to see David taking off his jeans, his muscles rippling. Her vision blurred and the next thing she knew he was lying across her, legs open, and she could feel him entering her lower wet regions.

Already she was breathing heavily. "I've never… oh wow. You're so mmph… I've never felt so full."

Images of her husband flashed across her mind, but she quickly dispelled them. He was never this enjoyable or large. Not even in the beginning.

She was relishing his face in her neck and was getting high off his moans. She could feel his hands on her breasts, and while he was pressing hard, she loved him for it.

She started as hands flew around her neck, squeezing hard, but relaxed when she recalled her previous encounters. This had happened often before and was how the boys had gotten off. This was their thing.

She tried to ignore the pressure on her neck, and focus on the member inside her, but the hold was tighter than they had been before- she couldn't breathe well.

David was still moaning and breathing heavily, his hips bouncing roughly.

"David," she rasped, "ease up a bit."

If he heard her, he gave no sign. Instead he began sliding his tongue up her neck. She shivered with pleasure.

The grip tightened. Now she really couldn't breathe.

Her hands flew up around his wrists, pulling and tugging at them. "I can't… Davi-" she choked out.

He reached her ear, and began sucking on her earlobe. Normally she would have enjoyed it, but now her lungs were starting to ache.

She began struggling, clawing and prying at the vice-like grip on her throat. The edges of her vision were darkening, turning black. She began kicking, but in the cramped backseat, she couldn't get much force behind them.

Her nails dug into his wrists, but he gave no sign of noticing. She tore chunks from them, becoming desperate. She couldn't even call out anymore, her throat was so tight.

Slowly, her vision began ebbing away and her struggles became weak.

Her last conscious thought was him coming inside her and his fingers digging into her n

I am fixated on the drumming in my head. A facet of me knows it is just my ears picking up onto the nuance of my increased pulse from the spike of adrenaline. The rest of me cannot help believing I am hearing the pounding of a taiko drum:

POUND-POUND-POUND...

A facet of me knows I was beaten, knows I was mugged, knows I was stabbed, yet focusing on the drumming in my head almost makes me oblivious to the pain. Almost makes me oblivious to the screaming and panicking that seems to surround me. Almost:

POUND-POUND-POUND...

The stars dance across my vision now, more majestic than any fireworks show I have ever witnessed. Why does something so beautiful only come into view after something so tragic? Is it for a sense of balance? The facet of myself that is a philosopher fixates on that thought. It seems like as good of a thing to think about as any since I seem unable to speak or even move on my own accord at this point:

POUND-POUND-balance-POUND...

My neck suddenly feels a familiar sensation. The lightest lips to have ever brushed against it, kissing me the same way again. Is it a memory? Has she found me in this state and trying to give me something else to hold onto? She cannot be here, she is so far away right now:

POUND-balance-sigh-balance-POUND...

The muted screams and panic seem to fade more now. Something like a siren's scream interrupts the drumming song in my head:

REEEE-WOO-REEE-WOO-REE...

"Sir, can you hear me?"

"Of course I can hear you, you are screaming at me," that is what I think to myself anyway, I am fairly sure my lips do not move though.

"Sir, please blink twice if you can understand what I am saying..."

I believe I close my eyelids, the starshow becomes more vivid on the black backdrop. I seem to recall needing to open them again for some reason, but it seems like an old memory now. Why would I want to anyway, when I am watching the most beautiful lightshow in the world, with a soothing song drumming in the distance, and the love of my life grazing her lips against my neck:

pound-balance-sigh-balance-pound...

"Sir please...we need to move him, NOW!"

Don't move me. Everything is perfect right here, right now...

PAIN! NO!

LIGHTNING, BLINDING LIGHTNING! a poor finale to an otherwise perfect light show.

DEAFNESS!

NUMBNESS!

Fade to black...

Why is it...acquired taste is typically abused? It can be heaven-sent but more likely, devil's muse. The caveat is always ,"Drink Responsibly!" but isn't that more or less relative? Definitely seen variations in my experience with relatives, and that's putting it delicate. The sweet nectar that sheds us of sin, stores our anxieties, and in many cases "gets us in,". I however have been here before, where the day became night, and there was no transition, I SWORE! A swill, a gulp, a chug, and shot, no this isn't a spell, but blackout's what I got. Before it all happened, I mean right before memory stopped, before I had master reset, before I was scoffed, I only remember it subtly: the world spinning, akin to a loading sign, all processes continuing with no idea of mine. I know I should get this, all that I do in a perfect discussion, it would only make sense! I don't, right before blackout, I probably kiss death, tell her to give me more moments, and escape with more breath. I'm not really sure...If I was I would explore. But blackout is just that : a document redacted, that only others have access to the instance or account. Sad isn't it? It could be alcohol or prescribed drug, but when it gets to the swell crescent of the wave, what happens next is a strong "What?"

The walls around me

Slowly melt into puddles

I kneel down on the wooden floor

Feeling it with my fingertips

They vibrate across from me

Like ripples on water

A mixture of self-pity and loathing

Combined with white lines of powder

Sets not everything on fire

But drips down into puddles of water

It must not only be the dopamine

Overflowing my brain

Increasing my blood flow in my veins

It must be something else

That I can't recognize

And as my body surrenders

The floor rises up

Everything is turning horizontally

Black is slowly spreading

On all four sides of my vision

As my cheek lays flat on the floor

I hear the loud ticks of the clock

Vibrating in the air

My heart joins in the music

Beating in unison with the ticks

As the black continues to spread

The clock ticks are slowing down

The blackness is spreading more

And as I only see a hint of light

I hear one final tick of the clock

With my last heartbeat

The dark consumes me whole

Until there is nothing left to feel

But emptiness

A subtle buzzing noise comes from inside my head as I lay on the ground, groaning in pain. How did I get here?

Oh yeah...

Wait?

How did I get here?

All I remember is going down the hill on my bike.

My ankle shouldn't look like that, should it?

I lay back down, eyes watering and swimming with black spots.

"Someone help," I try to say, but it comes out garbled and messy.

A black cloud passes over my eyes and I slip away into it, silently.

It's a lovely day today.

The wind breeze kindly,

embracing the dim sun shinning light

All I hear is just, silence.

No echo, no voices, not even my dog barking loud.

I turn up my music, still, no rhytm buzzing through me.

I'm a deaf man.

It's a lovely day to accept defeat.

I'm a sinner, I know I've lost.

An egocentric caught in a naivette eye of a child, who suddenly wakes up.

I've waste my life, for nothing really.

As if the war, the ambitions, the glory are just.. vague camuflage.

How I've come so far, just to sit back, and sees nothing.

No more questions, not even seeing eye to eye within myself no more.

I accept, the defeat.