strung up

Every single time I shoot up, I pray to a god I don't believe in that the syringe will take me away.

I daydream of death, nod off into nothingness.

Yet every time I come back.

I swear I'm just gonna do a gram shot of some china white and fucking end it within the week.

The funny thing is, I have no reason to feel this way. I have a beautiful fiancee, wonderful friends, an exciting life. Everything should be peachy.

But I still am so tired. Exhausted. I haven't eaten in days, my hair is falling out, I'm lethargic. I know what whoever's reading this will think;

Stop doing heroin.

Well, I have no desire to get clean. I love the high. I love seeing my blood fill the syringe as I draw back. The warmth that my sweet opiate lover radiates through my soul.