Heroin

I was scared and hungry, a little boy in the jungle. I decided my writing needed to be better. I was documenting the jungle. Life in the jungle was weird. One moment I was in a coffee shop. The next moment I was here amongst dense thickets. I smoked so I pulled out my pipe and lit. A panther was in the distance. I could tell from the smell of the pee. I saw birds in the sky. It was a clear sky. The day I left it was a clear sky. I tracked the smell of urine to behind a tree, and spear in hand, I gutted the panther. Medicine was a cute endeavor. It made you turn and look twice at the vine on your arm, the needle in my arm, my memory was flashing.

I came here after a heroin addiction. Heroin was my go-to, my lover, and my fiend. All at the same time, I drank, did heroin, smoked on whatever was there. The girl that was in my bed liked it. She evaded me at times, but she paid me for the heroin I was giving her. I thanked her. The bicycle I had was broken by gangsters stealing it. They broke into my backyard where it was locked and sawed the parts off. So, I was left with a body of a bike but nothing else. Funny, huh.

I brought the girl to meet my mom, and she hated it. It was like we had a vision of what we expected, but her reaction was nothing like what we expected. I was happy I was meeting Dr. Goldsmith later in the day for rehabilitation therapy. Isn’t funny that some people, like doctors, think their job is better than yours.

“Girl just give me love.” I said.

“Girl just give me love?” She said.

“What kind of line is that?”

I don’t know. I fucked her that night though. She never let me fuck her either, anyway. It was just like there, and I took the it. I was tired of venting — venting to therapists, venting to her, venting to my mom. The conversations we had were ridiculous. It’s hard to call yourself ridiculous sometimes, but sometimes you are ridiculous. I was tired of having ridiculous conversations with my mom.

The painting on the wall was of nurses, there were nurses on the wall, not to be intrusive. My mom was a nurse. She worked hard everyday to supply us with food and love, and kindness when she could muster it. I felt like she tried. She really did. But, she wasn’t that great in the kindness department. Well, anyway, she yelled at me when I brought my girl over. “What’s she doing here?” She said.

As if bringing my druggie girlfriend around wasn’t enough, I said, “What do you want with me?”

Love gives you clarity I realized, and I was drifting in and out of it. It’s like I was hit on the head with a ton of bricks. You couldn’t bring that kind of clarity for free. It’s just not cheap.

“Stop.” She said.

“I need you to leave.” My mom said.

So, she left, and we snorted some cocaine somewhere. I decided I wasn’t about writing and quit for sometime. It was raining outside, so I put my hood and mask on. I was getting off on this writing thing again when I started doing cocaine again. “You ain’t shi*t.” I said.

“You know that?”

“Yeah, I know that.” She said.

We were trying to keep it clean and even. We both said stuff like that. To make writing polished over and over again, like a gem, you gotta clean it, over and over again. I was tired of cleaning writing. I was just going to write what was on my mind. I didn’t want to see what he said when he texted me, my dealer. But, he said, “I’m no longer selling to you.”

I was like blow. That sucks. And, that was my deal with drugs.