no more room for dead kids

I opened the alcohol pad like a condom
Between my teeth its paper shred
I took a drink of cheap beer
Its taste making me cringe and shiver harder then the white sting of cleaning infected wounds
My hands still smelled like nicotine
I disgust myself

I wrote this when I was drunk and half dead

She stitched me up, I was numbed on rum and adrenalin as the needle bobbed in and out of my skin
Every so often she'd glance at me
An expression somewhere between frustration and understanding
I avoided her eye contact

"I hope I dont have to do this again"
I didnt reply, my expression never flinching
I watched her stitch my body
Knowing she could never fix my head

After I started smoking I realized I was becoming more conscious of every breath
A reminder I was still living through something that was killing me
I still laugh at the irony