Fresh Start

I want to stop using this year.

To kick it, for real. I know I say that every year, but this year, it’s for real-real. So many of my pals had gone before, you know. They just faded or ended up turning bright blue in someone’s bathroom or coming to an end on the street or a bar. I’ve been lucky for too long and know that I’ve run my luck. I can’t breathe right and I’m real hot.

Combos were always my favorite, right? Just the right mixture of speed and junk. Too much of one or the other, and you can end up dead and gone. But if you get it right – it’s heaven. Like electric light and love poured through your veins and out into your heart that goes on and on. Big clouds of sweet happy for you to float on. It doesn’t matter where you are – what you did, you just are, held, warm, tight and golden. I can lie for days – hours – minutes - wrapped in silk honey home sweet.

Sometimes, it gets hard but it’s real. Coming back. Feeling every inch of your teeth and your skin. The smell of yourself metallic – your tongue caked. Is that my sick? I don’t do that no more. I did when I first started – but not now. Now, I know what I’m doing. Others don’t. I do. See, ‘cause I’m still here, right. I made it through the hard part – the growing up part, the failing to succeed part – when everyone else got flags and ribbons and love, I didn’t need nothing from nobody or my brothers or anyone. ‘Cause I had mine. I’d sell whatever I could to get ‘em. My stuff, myself, steal, you know. Because it was all for a good cause. Me. I’d work – but not work, work. That’s for suckers. I’d do enough to get by, sweating it out on the phone banks, sitting back where the lights didn’t buzz or the other phone voices didn’t drive me crazy. I’d do six hours from four to ten calling surveys, promising vacays, selling, begging – it didn’t matter what. They had a script for me. Something to push. I was good at pushing. I’d get $6 an hour times six every day I showed up and that was enough to cop. Not now, now I need a lot more. Hooking was easy. I’d lie there. Let them do whatever and they’d give me a lot more than I made on the phones. But it didn’t matter. Because every time I did it, went down or up or whatever, I knew there was no other way I could make it, you know? But it was mine. I picked it. My choice.

But it’s a new year now, I’m older, smarter, I know it's time to change ‘cause I’m for reals sick. Not junk or dope sick. I can’t breathe good sick, I got chills and sweats and the other people where I’m squatting are sick like me too. There’s supposed to be some medical people that come around and shoot us up or get us help – I saw ‘em before – but they aren’t coming here no more. A kid the other day told me that the hospitals are full anyway and they haven’t got no space for users no more.

So, I wanna kick and stop for real ‘cause I don’t want to die of the virus that’s killing everyone else. I wanna keep using and stay wrapped tight, you know? Be well enough to use but my breathing ain’t so good and I’m sweating like I do when I need. I can’t sell no more and I got nothing to give that nobody wants anyway. I don’t deserve to die ‘cause of some bug. I wanna die my way. Like my friends did. Blue and wrapped and tight.

I want a fresh start.