My Heroin

I unwrap that syringe from it's dirty pocket.
The metal is stained brown from the airated blood that dried
From the many times I've used it
Taken it to my skin over and over
and coating my blood in the
vile
disgusting
addictive crime
that resides in my veins
that covers the blood like a pain filled blanket.
But it feels so good, and I cannot bring myself to pull away.

Heroin is flexible
You can smoke it, sniff it, inject it
But I only stab it for it leaves a mark.
The single scar it leaves
after I inject myself in the same spot a thousand times over
It's a cry for help for my broken soul, my broken life
A cry for mercy.

I take this needle
and press it to my skin
breaking it, and pressing down on the plunger
to let the poisons kill me every time.
The feeling is almost orgasmic
as it flushes into my veins.
I start to fluster, and I pull the syringe out
dripping with blood
and lay it on the cold hard ground.

I'm floating
I'm feeling on top
and sometimes I wonder
why I don't just kill myself to make the pain go away.