Chasing the Next High

This is about a friend who used to be a great artist, but traded Heroin needles for creating art. I miss the old her.

By Amanda ZylstraPublished 7 years ago • 1 min read

Stephen King is your uncle.

He lives near a pet cemetery.

June bugs burrow into your long dishwater blonde hair.

A Shirley Temple Doll haunts your closet.

You have to lock her up at night so she doesn’t haunt your dreams.

Art used to be your passion.

I was amazed by your talent.

But your drawings died with your addiction.

You are chasing the next high these days.

I still have the pencil sketch you drew for me in high school of the vintage kitten with a ball of yarn.

I want to have it framed someday.

You smoke cigarettes and work at a gas station.

You own no car.

I still remember the Oldsmobile you drove that made funny noises when the windows went up and down.

We used to make songs up to the sounds the windows made since your radio did not work.

But you are chasing the next high these days.

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Cat Lover, Poetry Writer, Tea Drinker, Skincare and Beauty Product Obsessed. Check out my poetry collection "Passing Skeletons" available on Amazon.

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