He knows his best friend has quickly turned his life into obliteration, yet he cannot say no.  It calls his name, and with every reflection he finds himself digging a deeper hole.  Ignoring his morals he subconsciously lines it up and takes another hit, before he knows it, he’s the king. Nothing can possess the strength to break this rush. Hours pass, along with the surge of poison trickling through his veins.  Then comes the wall and it’s all over. As he awakens he notices two things; one, the crimson stain coming from his nose on his only tattered hoodie, and the unaccountable covet for more powdered therapy.