Tracks

You’re there again
Choking on your disease
Black tar tracks and raw red mounds
Pickling your arms
And you’re grinning at everyone
On a tenacious rerun:
“I am doing great.  Things are going so good.”
High on your own ego
High with your pernicious demon
That kills you a little more each time.
And I ache for you.  
I’ll die with you.
Be left standing alone
Hating every single memory you left behind.