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The betrayal

08/08/2017

With heroin we soared together on clouds of bliss. Without it we clung together in abject despair. Even when we couldn’t bear to touch we were there for each other. In puke and diarrhea. In cold sweat and cramps. In sobbing and thrashing. In anguish and agony. For ever and ever. Until we scored again.

We both knew where it was heading. Our love had only one consummation. Always circling back to the same foregone conclusion. Ever tighter, ever faster as we closed in on the drain.

She begged me to help often enough. I never asked her. I’m a DIY kinda guy. I knew it was insane. But that’s OK. So am I. So was she. Our manacles forged in love and madness. Heaven and hell.

With the darkness at the end of the tunnel upon us I found an unexpected burst of resolve. I broke away. To die. Alone. I failed.

Three grams of pink rocks and a pack of nembudeine. Enough to kill a horse. But not a filthy junkie like me. Death spat me out. Disgusted.

When I returned from hospital she was gone. A thick envelope on the pillow with my name scrawled in red. I binned it unopened. I walked out with no forwarding address.

She’s dead. I’m not. For now.

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From → autobiography, hurts

3 Comments
  1. Holy mackerel.
    I typed and deleted, over and again, but I’m tired and can’t form the words. Suffice it to say, holy mackerel.

    Like

    • You gotta excuse us old folk always going on about the good ol’ days.

      Like

      • You can go on like that about any ol’ days. As in please do. As in you never cease to wow me with your writing. I felt this one in my gut.

        Like

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