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A poem/story regarding heroin addiction from personal experience.

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Nov 21, 2023
Barrel loaded, the muddier the ever more potent. As i plunge, fear and anxiety is discontinued as if it were old stock on the shelves. Fofever archived and unrecalled, but how could one forget such turmoil so hastly.

Back to square one, the drawing board newly wiped clean ready for fresh lines post-class. For this existence is detention. Pupils pinned, garments potentially awaiting pin-stripes. However, i stop and question... Could the judicinary system cease this darkness. The response, inevitably pending.

I wonder, my choices, my mistakes. I wander, the murky streets. Exhausted yet persistent, i search the glove box of an unlocked Honda, to no avail. Inside weeping buckets, im pale. Slave to addiction, a hopeless assistant.

The high, a distant memory. A deceased loved one gradually slipping from the cerebral memory bank. Im withdrawn, a draft over-head reassures another impending cold night. Paying my interest owed sorrowly back with happiness. A greedy loan, not the first, nor the last.