As a Consequence of Injecting Crystal Meth, April 30, 2013, rev. September 25, 2013

As a Consequence of Injecting Crystal Meth

               - we dance beautiful dances, full of motion, meaningful in his world, that say I believe what you believe.  Imagination is a junkie’s security blanket, if properly tended; else, his nightmare.

               - we are Pinocchios brought to life, strung up, manipulated by unseen daddy-dealer hands. 

               - pants hang loose around his waist, not unusual for a ghost, and then there’s that shimmer on his cheeks, the shine from a desert mirage destined to evaporate.

               - words are thrown at each other.  Barbed arrows target weak spots for maximum penetration.  Feel the pain you cause, bastard.

               - between rounds, silence soaks the house, dampening things that need to be said.

               - he tries to dress up the place, outside and in.  Mowing and vacuuming are a guilty man’s soap.  Isn’t this pretty?  Neither of the vision boards hung in his room have eyes.

               - schemes and plans and designs carefully incubated in wet brains explode, sopping our lives in oozy truthiness and omissions (his words).  But I see falsehoods and fibs and forgeries and fiction and fraudulence (my words) lying dead on the floor.

               - the truth, or the juice, bites his ass like a pit bull taught hate might bite an ass.  The truth always leaks out when the juice flows in because the truth and the juice do what they know to do.

               - I wonder, is the ass-bite of truth like the real bite that would come from my teeth if I could bite his ass?  I wonder this because my bite would have the chomping force of love.

               - I must love him until he can love himself.  Advice from a room full of junkies but very difficult to follow until I remember that I am him and, because all junkies remember themselves better than others, I love him/me.  But I remind myself that I will not lap up his vomit, only to choke.

               - this junkie sees and feels and knows and experiences his pain and joy with him every.single.time. and my arrogance cannot deny him his humanity.

               - we may never fucking get it and die, or we may awaken to the knowledge that we are already on our own paths, each true and good, none better nor worse.

               - we may find happiness just as we are, being and living and seeing, really seeing.