Intoxicated Destruction

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I don't remember how it started. It could have been the death... or earlier. I think you always felt empty, crippled by a past infringed with addiction. I never understood, you know? I had my own crazy thoughts raging in my own crazy head and I assumed that I was unique in that aspect.

You never grieved. That should have been a warning sign. We reacted in different ways, me in anger, you in stoicism. The first time you came home, reeking of pungent smoke with empty eyes rimmed in red, I thought nothing of it. Amused at your stupidity and inability to hide your intoxication, I laughed. Funny how remembering a simple laugh can make you want to die...

Remember that day during the summer, when the skies raged and fought the most epic war we'd ever watched unfold? We sat, observing lightning seperate the sky into pieces, the only light coming from the embers on the ends of our cigarettes and the plasma raping our vision. The depths of your voice carressed my ear, blending and harmonizing with the cacophony of roars outside. You could have said anything, and I would have deemed it Gospel. We talked for hours, well into the morning, as we watched the storm progress and pass. Words burned, deep inhales followed by foggy, profound statements laced with eloquence and cynicism. I could have lived the rest of my life in those hours, killing myself with you.

I think the drugs ruined me before you realized they ruined you. Sitting at home, I heard police in our foyer. I curled in on myself, myriad sleeping pills rushing through my blood stream. No matter how often I experienced this same moment, I never got used to it... the lull and stop of time as I crush up more medication to make the screams in my head slow to a drone, so that I could maybe get some rest... By then, I recognized every policeman or woman in our small hell.

I still recall bonding over our love of the stars... Forced outside by our nicotine lust, I sat on the porch with you, marveled by my love of the night sky and you... This house can no longer be constituted as a home... Miles away, I still feel you in the emptiness that echoes through the halls. I know you must beat this addiction, but what of my need for the comfort I find in the undertones of your voice and your angled, contemplative face? You... my brother, my mentor, my god. You're my everything. I miss you. I need you. Come home.





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