I want to look at you with clear vision, but you've kept my vision blurred by tears for so long I don't even recognize simple shapes anymore. I rely on my touch, I grab a gloved hand and pull you down on top of me. The needle sinks even deeper into me.
Beautiful girl. A kiss. Two pairs of dry, cracked lips meet, a faint warmth stolen from me. I can feel you shivering, where have you been tonight? You used to be so smart, intelligent. You used to show me the way. Without much consideration for my pain you pull out the needle and don't even try to stop the blood-flow. I close my eyes but still hold your hand in mine. Or is it just your glove? I don't know too much anymore.
There was so much. And of course you bring up the past again, you want to return to that. When we had dreams, hopes, letters to write, poems to memorize for coffee house nights, energy drinks to gulp down for exams, paintings to finish; when we had more than ourselves. Do you remember it all? Of course, and I wish I could forget. I feel bliss kick in if I shut my eyes really tight. I hear you hiss, that tiny little hiss you make when you push the needle into a vein. You're quick, because you never liked needles.
I want to go back. Don't you? Is it why you cry? Because you want to go back? I cry because I know this is all too real, this bottom that we've hit has left us with nothing; not even ourselves. How can you even think of going back?
You lie down beside me, touch my tousled hair and bury your nose in it. I remember when you smelled of lavender by lunch, grass in the afternoon, coffee and cigarette smoke in the night and ecstasia in the morning.
Shut up. Let this rush carry me away. You made me addicted, you owe me my life. Don't you dare die before me.