On the Edge of the World

I walk these empty streets singing the same old song.  Excessive-selective-serotonin-reuptake-inhibition washes over my brain.  A half gram of herb and ninety minutes later, I seek refuge at the library.  I seek the warmth of trance-induced hypnosis.

This time last week, I was in bad shape.  Downtown early, calling Florida and New Jersey.  The package is already at the hub?   Great, I’ll be there to pick it up in twenty minutes.  Fire up the engine, stop at 7-11 for a money order and a coffee, and prepare to destroy my life.  At the hub, the package is waiting, and after a brief moment, I’m tearing open the cardboard and digging for the pharmacy vials.  I pop two Xanax bars and three Norco 10s down the hatch, chase it with the coffee.

The next instant I remember is running through an alleyway, being chased by a pack of crack-fiends.  Then I’m talking to a police officer and he’s asking me why I’m selling my pills on the street.  Again, I fall into oblivion, and when I awake next time, it’s to the rhythmic beeping of an emergency room corridor.

Oh Jesus, what now?

~ by motokokusanagi on October 22, 2007.