Addict in an Attic

The addict sits, balled up in a corner somewhere

like a discarded napkin at a trucker ribs restaurant

off the highway...

He doesn't know where the fuck he is,

(Though it might be an old friends' attic of a house

that was long since vacated...

...or a dingy jail cell...

or his rich punk rock friend Fecus's basement

in an attempt to further piss off his folks...)

whatever the case, George has nothing

but the spent needle in his crusty jeans

to hold on to, and make

his reality solid...

He drags the pointed Devil out

into the light that's spilling

lazily from the window to his left...

Like the dust particles fish-tailing madly about in the air,

George feels the ghost of his once razor sharp

ambition

banging against his chest for release!...

His eyes bulge further from his scalp,

as he erects himself

into a normal seated position.

"I love that I hate you!"

He screams in a squeaky voice at the syringe

with it's pointed cap...

For a brief second he thinks of the years of sobriety squandered;

the countless lies and false promises he told

family members and friends

about cleaning up his act;

the money put into rehabilitation clinics;

and then in the next moment he's dusted the rat droppings off his shirt,

and he's back on the hunt...

...He's busted through a window on the ground level

of this tenement of depair,

and surfaces back out into the blinding light...

...Itching to rip off the next sucker he can find

so he can shoot his vein full of holes!...

Ready or not,

here he comes!...

...From sunrise to twilight

this is YOUR life!...

©

9/03/20

Bunny Villaire