the escape junkie

I fight not against my demons, but beside them.
I am not religious at all. I am studying science, chemistry specifically, in university. But I know that the light does not exist without the darkness, and vice versa. The sun sets and darkness falls, and the light approaches a different part of the world as one part goes black. This balance is something I should work on practicing as it would serve me well all throughout my life, but I am drawn to the extremes, like a junkie is drawn to the needle.

The needle slides into my arm and sensually bites at my vein, and I register, a bloom of blood enters the syringe and I push the plunger down. I slip the needle from my arm and blood follows, like a curious creature wondering what is outside of its habitat. The blood collects in the crook of my arm, escaping the confines of my skin and cells, pooling up and sparkling with life itself.

I briefly think about wiping the blood away before it spills over onto my paisley rug, but the sweet fire of the heroin has already surrounded my brain. I have already escaped. I nod forward, and the dark crimson liquid blossoms onto the rug. It will leave a stain that I won't get a chance to remember or an attempt to clean; the stain is not unlike the many sins that stain my body, these walls, my bedsheets. I'll never get a chance to make things right or violently scrub at the filth I've created, that is simply an inherent part of my self.

fuck it all, I am already gone, far away, riding the pure white light through my veins, full speed ahead and this time there will be no slowing down, no stopping, just riding the rush through my body as it steals the air from my lungs and turns me into a jagged heap on that thin, blood-stained paisley rug.

And my body is just one more dirty sin that I don't get a chance to clean up.