Singing the Blues and Shooting Dope

Warren Zevon sings to me thru my stereo, "Carmelita, hold me tighter cuz i think im sinkin down and im all stung out on heroin on the outskirts of town"

I pull back the syringes plunger, filling it to the 25 cc mark, I scoop about forty cents worth of dope out of a small zippered baggie into a spoon and squrt it with the water from the syringe, I put the orange cap back on the rig and use it to crush the crstals until there are no more particles floating in the water.

I lick the end of the rig, tasting the meth. Its strong, so I place a cotton in the spoon and draw the mix back up in the syringe, I get 35 ccs back, usually a sign the dope is good.

Warren tells me about pawning his typewriter and running out of methadone as I find the vein and watch blood rush into the rig, mixing with the dope. I send the shot home and gasp as I feel the fire in my lungs brought on by a good hit.

Carmelita. Change the name of the song and the drug of choice and it could be about me, about my "life."

Lovesick, strung out, and broke, my only possesions are the things ive stolen, and the chill I feel was born in the marrow of my bones the day she left me.

Warren knows what I know, she'll be there like a ghost ubtil the day my eyes finally close, and her name will be on my lips as I take my final breath.