Heroin

All the people are perfect

& your body is filled with lilacs and silk.

It’s like he finally stopped hurting you,

even though you can tell he didn’t (by the track marks on your arms.)

The loneliest dream is your reality,

until your brittle backbone disintegrates into dust.

Heroin is rain soaked clothing and being stretched SO thin,

you’re invisible to everyone but god (and even he’s disappointed.)

Heroin is floating in a polluted sky with cinder blocks tied to your limbs,

pulling you back down to earth.

Heroin is the absence of feeling-

and waking up with nothing but a thousand emotions.

It’s thinking you’ve seen the light,

when it was really the people on fire.

Heroin is numbing the pain,

only to worsen the problem.

It’s thinking you’ve found peace,

when the war just started.