Amber Stains

Long slender fingers caress the metal shaft, it's cool surface slowly warms up with the touch of the body. Well manicured nails, no dirt underneath, cuticles pushed back,a clear coat of nail polish, all make every movement seem so well thought and placed as if they'd done this a thousand times before. They open up a small baggie laying next to her kit, just a dash is poured onto the bent spoon. Those slender fingers now screw the needle onto the metal shaft, the surgical steel that once felt so alien, now feels inviting and welcoming, the mind travels back to an amniotic past where nothing seemed like it was, you could say everything was rosy.

With one pull of the plunger, a bit of water is sucked in. It is then meticulously poured onto the pink/brown powder in her spoon. One hand carefully holds the spoon now, while the other uses a lighter underneath it. It bubbles after a short time, after which she uses the needle to mix it in. Once the consistency seems proper, she pulls on the plunger to suck in all of the amniotic fluid from the spoon into the syringes' shaft. Now she can relax, as the hardest part is over and done with. Putting away all of her tools, she leaves out only the rubber tourniquet and syringe.

She walks to the kitchen for a drink of water, the glasses are just above the dish washer, there's a bottle of Perrier inside the fridge which she keeps stocked with tequila and beer. She serves herself a cup and sips at it slowly. On her way back to the bedroom she stops at her iMac where she turns on some music to lead her on her little journey. She first has to minimize the report she's been working on, not many people are able to understand the happenings of third world villages much less actualize a plan to keep a grand majority of them fed. Though she'd had enough of that for today, now it was time to forget about everything.

Music starts up slow, it's a mix of tunes ranging from The Velvet Underground to Devendra Banhart.

Now in her bedroom her slender fingers grab onto the rubber tourniquet as they wrap the loose rubber around her left upper arm and tighten it up, teeth holding on to loose pieces keeping a tight bind. Arm outstretched she slaps the inside of her elbow to pop out the veins. Once they are out well enough she grabs her syringe. At first she breaths in slow and heavy getting the syringe positioned just right. Her mouth waters as a thousand thoughts start to pour through her head of all the men that have been there but left, of the children she's had to hold in her arms to console from their hunger, from their sickness. Her co-workers who are still out there fighting the good fight, fighting for the less fortunate, of the ones who have died for the cause. She pulls on the plunger to make sure she's in the vein, the amber red liquid spurts into the chamber of her syringe. Red viscous blood which she can now see through a small glass window on the side slowly mixes in with her heroin concoction, creating a beautiful spiral of herself and the soon to be amniotic escape. She pushes the plunger in, a slow steady flow.

At first she feels little, her head is still swimming with memories, of the faces, the lovers, the people she's left behind. Everything encumbers her so, but it will all be forgotten soon enough. Pulling out the needle, and releasing the tourniquet, a warm rush goes straight to her head. A numbing feeling in the back of her skull, a tingling, spreading a warmth over her entire body. She puts the now empty chamber on her night table, as soon as it's metal body clinks against the wooden surface so does she collapse onto her bed. Blonde hair spread out around her head like a halo. White slender figure against her dark sheets accentuates the curves of her body. Now her mind is blank, there is nothing going on that could ever stop her from feeling this way. Her body gives itself fully to the heroin which makes it's way and embeds itself onto her brain. Opioid receptors light up as her own thoughts and emotions are shut down.

Nothing matters, everything is meaningless. Only thing that's real right now is this feeling like being on the clouds. Her high makes everything ok. She's not thinking about the children, about the faces of the damned. Her only thought is "God I wish I could get fucked right now." One hand reaches into her pants, she feels her wet pussy, soaking her slender fingers as she feels herself inside and out remembering the last man she was with, his hard throbbing cock inside of her all the way to her cervix, exploding orgasms, the way he caressed and kissed her. Her brain is too fucked up and there's only so much she can do for herself right now. Those slender fingers leave a wet trail from her crotch up to her breasts as she caresses herself before passing out from her drugged out self induced state.

In her dreams she's living inside a large house, with servants who do her every will and capricious desire. Her husband is a powerful and rich ambassador who shows her around like a prized dog, with their cat about and a chauffeur wearing a silly hat they drive around town to see the sights and to be seen. She doesn't have to worry about spending her money, nor does she have to worry about having to do anything for herself. Everything is already taken care of. She goes to parties where women wear dresses worth thousands of dollars that will never see the light of day again, and enough jewelry to feed a village for a lifetime. But she doesn't care anymore, she has her dream.

Her visions perpetuate here for a while, but end up in darkness eventually as the drug fully takes on. Her sleep is deep and constant, at least until her amniotic wet dream wears off. For now though, her ethereal self is swimming about in the abyss of her subconscious. Waiting to wake up, waiting to forget all over again.

Complicated, isn't it?

Worst thing about being "sick" is being "sick" in a way that no one can see. When you aren't showing symptoms and people can't tell there is something wrong with you by just looking at you makes things quite odd. Friends don't understand, family tries but only kinda gets it and the world starts getting much smaller as going out becomes extremely difficult. What once fed my spirit has dried up, the experience of life, living, and other people. It feels as if life is over. Worst part is having people who you once thought would be there for you just disappear. How is anyone supposed to stick around anyhow? Also, meeting new people becomes extremely difficult. It's not easy to assimilate into this new life, it's extremely hard. I have no help from anyone, all the doctors have to say is "well you shouldn't be feeling like this." Well guess what, I am. I'm in pain, I'm miserable, and my support net is gone. I don't even have a pain buffer. What I feel is disheartening, and all I want is someone to listen, to help. Guess what though, something always comes to mind whenever I think about this: we are born alone, we die alone. It is the one thing that we have to share with each other.

Except for twins, they are born together, and die alone.

It must feel nice to know

It's not every night that I dream
much less the times that they are remembered.
So when they are about you I have to ask
if it's you that makes them happen
or if there is some part of me
deep down inside hidden from my own eye
that still misses you.

What do I miss?
A gentle touch as we pass a cigarette
back and forth our fingers slightly graze
the touch of skin to skin.
The stink of your dirty clothes
or hair unwashed for days
a gentle smile
half crooked teeth
to me you were perfect in every way.

I miss the elongated nights
made short by our alcohol consumption
I never drank like I did with you
and somehow I miss that.


Why do you come to mind as often as you do
when we both know you've given up
even though you took my heart with you.
It's not easy to forget the good things
my mistake is that the bad I often do.
That is what love does I guess
blinds one to be a fool.

Bleh

Another 2 days in the hospital. Food poisoning/flu like symptoms. WTF. Yeah, still feel like shit, my head is spinning, and they gave me no meds to go home with. Way to go Hospital.

The Wrinkles on our Faces

No matter how I paint it
or how many times I lie to myself
she's a thousand miles away
in another's arms
raising the children
that should have been mine.

It's sad
to think of how we loved one another
only to end up like this.
You playing a part
pretending to enjoy
the words that I utter
as one drowns in remorse
that I didn't stay in your warmth
when there was nothing but cold
to come back here to.

Now it's too late,
a decade has passed
since that fateful day
when we first crossed paths
on a web spun foyer
meant for just you and I.

Now we are older
we thread carefully each step
weary from the backhands
that have come our way.
It's not your fault,
nor is it mine.
Sometimes people simply lie.

Once in a past life
we held each other close
loved one another
in your arms my repose.
Now lifetimes later
we find each other again
only to miss one another
by the hair of our necks.

It's been nice to know you
and hear your voice again,
just remember
my ethereal lips
kiss yours every day.
Maybe next life,
though this one seems to be it,
though we may never know
what was meant as our bliss.

Human

As the years pass
I've had the chance to
Live, love, hate, and die.
Living short moments of happiness
dances with strangers
getting to know them
as they pop in and out of existence.
Loving without holding back
letting emotions run amok
frivolous kisses
words exchanged long distance
all make a heart ache in joy
simple reminders of Alive.
Hating good-bye
spaces between us
contradictions
of what we thought fate would bring.
Dying slowly
locked away
becoming a memory
one which many will soon forget.
This is human,
birth, life, and death.