THE SECOND SYRINGE

Dawn paints lattice pattern sunbeams,
 
through the tree limbs,on my damaged,naked flesh.
 
Methamphetamine ultra violet rays,
 
that jolt me awake.
 
I strain to focus on the obsessive compulsive layout
 
of clothes,and pocket contents beside me.
 
A toxin withered,fetal positioned,body imprint,
 
remains on the section of grass where I slept.
 
Nature does everything she can,
 
to rid herself of this abomination,that randomly
 
chose to throw itself in the middle of her
 
the night before.
 
The light,the morning chill,the bird screams,
 
all rattle any remaining endorphins from my body,
 
and the adrenaline of the confusion,wears off fast.
 
I chose this location for a reason...
 
I just cannot seem to remember exactly why.
 
At least not at this disgusted moment.
 
Getting dressed,gives time for a crash course roll call
 
of wits,and anatomical attributes.
 
Broken bones?...None.
 
Any blood?...Just some.
 
Teeth?...Intact.
 
Name?...Check.
 
Area?...Familiar.
 
Memory?...Eh.
 
I finish lacing my,aching joint insensitive boots,
 
and start grabbing the objects,
 
of which I neatly placed in order,from largest,to smallest.
 
Wallet,smokes,empty pill bottle...
 
There it is...
 
An already filled syringe of comfort.
 
Right next to my tourniquet.
 
It vibrates a warmth,that I know is not really
 
physically there,but still feel anyway.
 
Into the soul it goes...
 
I quickly start to remember what brought me out last night,
 
and to this very location...
 
It was where I happened to be,
 
when I decided to end my own life.
 
 
.,;,'---.,;',.,Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω,.,.,;',-,
 
Maybe next time I'll get to the second syringe.