Just One More

I am alone again.
I find myself in my room, huddled on the floor,
clutching only a spoon and my lighter.
I am on a binge.
A small vial of liquid and a putty substance,
I load up the spoon with fumbling fingers.
I am so far gone.
I heat up the spoon and pull back the syringe,
slap my arm and inject myself.
I am impaired.
I lay back and smile, knowing I survived one more gap,
telling myself each time Just One More.
Just One More.
I will only do Just One More.
Then it happens again and again.
I am strung out.
I will steal, lie, and I might consider killing,
because I told myself Just One More time.
I am a liar.
I feel myself slowly fading out, darkening,
and how glorious it feels.
I am dying.
I have been on this for too long, and too often,
and I can feel myself degrading as I inject.
I don't care.
I have to have it, I would die without it,
so I might as well die with it.
I am so far gone.
I can feel myself fading from life and consciousness,
all because I took Just One More hit.
Just One More too many.