December 14, 2010
By Keira Hunt SILVER, Newcastle, Other
Keira Hunt SILVER, Newcastle, Other
8 articles 0 photos 0 comments

It’s like the last drag of the perfect blunt, goes down smooth but hits you hard.
Like the first line of the last thing you need.
And you forget how to breathe.
Like ecstasy for the soul, and you pray to never come down.
It hurts like your first time and then feels like your last.
It’s scary, and wrong, and perfect.
And you never want it to end.
You forget about everything and everyone, it’s about you now.
But as hard as you try, it can never be you again.
The pain subsides and the crash will follow.
You sniff, smoke or inject more, avoid the crash.
But not for long enough.
You realize for the first time, you’re alone.
But not really alone, the high makes you feel crowded.
And he was there.
The storm hits, but you don’t fly away.
You’re already flying.
Food has no use, friends have no meaning.
It’s just you now, and your high makes it okay.
No one would understand, so no one could hear.
Trust was a thing of the past.
Reaching out, but no hand to grab.
Let the waters take me.
The ocean was rough, but I had no complaints.
The night never lit.
He never stopped.
The bed never sank.
The high didn’t end.
Our eyes never closed.
But the space between us did.

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