Needle And Cotton

I wasn’t so far gone
As some of my dope friends
When I quit.

I mean

I wasn’t digging
At the veins in my neck
To get a hit.

I stopped using on my own.

Didn’t step foot
Inside a 12 step
For many years.

But
I know that they have a term
For my secret erotic
Fixation
With the needle.

Something like

‘Romancing the addiction’.

Just guessing.

I’ve buried the physical part
And I’m good with that.

It’s the psychological part
That is still present
To this day.

25 years later.

It was the whole set up
Leading up to
The actual high.

THAT was just as sexy to me.

I get a hard-on
When I’m in the wrong neighborhood
In any city.

I am alive
Hairs standing
Straight up on end.

Cocky and on the defense.
Sixth sense switched on.

I am in my element.
I lived this shit.

And I am here to tell you
About it now.

I can smell the drugs.

They want me.

I want them.

The forbidden
Criminal element
Of the desire.

The dope hunger.

The crime and sins
Leading up to the buy.

The buy itself
Which was often dangerous.

The prep
And it’s smells.

The tincture cooking
Browning up in a cotton ball.

The goosebumps
Pickling skin
As I watched the needle
Pulling the dope
Within.

The all-encompassing hunger
As I shoved the air bubbles out.

Then
Hitting a vein
And drawing back
To see my sweet friend
Blood swirling
Within.

When I hit it home
THAT was an orgasm
To someone far away.

To someone that existed
A long time ago.

I have distance on my side.

Psychologically
It WAS like sex.

It was a substitution
On occasion.

More complicated
Than a condom

I know it wasn’t always like that.

I’m sure that I’m romancing the needle.

There was a lot of crazy
Fucked up bullshit
Between the lines.

Lots of
Nasty
Filthy
Disgusting
Degrading
Dishonest
Demoralizing
Fucked up shit
That happened
Inbetween Point A
And Point B.

But I’m here
25 years later
To tell you this
Unapollgetically.

It’s one story
Of many.

More romantic
Than most.