Apomorphine

It’s not like I wasn’t forewarned. I had an inside tip on this. I had eyes opened wide. A lifetime of experience. And I still tripped and fell.

I can sustain myself on a diet of despair, hope, imagination, memories and delusion. I float on eddies of wind, and just when you think I’m about to scrape the ground, I am swept back up in unseeable forces.

I take stock. Everything is good. Limbs intact, body warm, mind sharp, stomach filled, cheeks used in smiles, arms used in embraces. Everything in working order.

But none of this is sustainable. And I keep mainlining what I know will kill me. Dulcet. Fast-acting. Never quite as good as the memory I keep chasing.

Someone come sweep me off my feet before I run off this cliff I keep dancing on. Offer me safety and I’ll give up the ghost altogether. Save me from myself.

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