Letter To An Old Friend

Hey there old friend. Maybe friend isn’t the correct term, so allow me to rephrase. Hello old habit. You and me were best friends. We were the Thelma and Louise of our time and yes we flew over the cliff and plunged into the abyss. I was sick and I only needed you. Not chicken soup which is weird because I always thought you were better when heated on a spoon. I thought you were all the antibiotics I needed. You and me were married once. I woke up to you, thought about you all day long, and rushed you into my arms at night. But that was just the honeymoon phase.

My friend, my disease. I was in it not for the thrill of the chase but for the end of my pain. When I was with you I saw my dreams come true. Pigs were flying, Donald Trump wasn’t considered sane enough to run the country, and I didn’t have to believe I was dying. I didn’t have to care about Tom, Ben, or Jerry. Care if the birds flew south to avoid harsh winters or harsh people. I avoided both. I only cared about cutting  perfect line, rolling a perfect dime, and making sure I didn’t look high. If I said I didn’t miss you I would be lying but hey, you’ve made a liar out of me before. It’s easy to try and ignore the hell you put me through, but I would walk a thousand miles of hells seventh floor before I slip back into that fantasy. That coma of things that have never been and could never not be. Me and the devil have danced nine times to many and I know all his sweet moves.

 

My friend, my affliction, Kryptonite doesn’t have a damn thing on you! You kept me down for four years. Only down was up and up was blue and it was way to difficult to stop believing in you. Believing you were better than real love. I loved you so much. You were my sweetheart, my honeybear, my chrystal, my blow, my k2 spice, my daily fix. But you can’t fix this! You can’t fix my past or make my future bright. I know I sound like I’ve suddenly seen the light but it was always there. I just chose to close my eyes.

My friend I think it’s best we stop playing this game. It’s time I call you by your true name. Addiction, you were never my friend only another bullet I’d bitten. Addiction you are my cancer, you may not be stage four but you're still terminal. You were the Thelma to my Louise. Only now if I am driven to the edge of insanity I’ll skid to a stop. I will watch as you fall over the edge, and I’ll smile as you dive into oblivion. A place I never again want to be.

This poem is about: 
Me

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