Bedroom Floor Injections

The vacancy between our bodies in these sheets overwhelms me, a vast and never ending list of unavoidable, avoided conversations and questions to which we don’t want answers. My head nods, dropping forward while you begin to shake yours, as if somehow you believe you’re better than me. You watch from the bed with that sad look on your face, “Oh poor little junkie with a needle in her hand.” We’re the same.. did you forget? You'll remember in a few minutes.. when it's not me, but you who's sitting on the floor mid-injection.

                               This is all your fault, you made me who I am.

The distance between us continues to grow. It feels ten miles long, it's an adventure to which I own no map and at this point-- I don’t even know who I’ll find at the other end. I’m not ready to inherit that knowledge just yet. I’m not ready to find out the woman I’ve loved is dead, has drown in sticky brown heroin. I should've taught you to swim..