Prologue
Even in the dank darkness of a flophouse the steel tower of a junkie's needle shines like the burning sun at the break of dawn. The gleam of a rig about to commit its duties scars the retina in shrouds of painful bliss. A lot of my friends have never been able to stick themselves. To me, that only proves their addiction has not yet reached the pit of its heaven.
I'm feeling it now... that sweet sickness reaching out to me.
Calling me.
Informing me the time has long since come.
Every muscle in my body aches for the release. Fuck whatever I happen to doing. This call comes from a much higher power. If I believed in god it would be none other than his hand itself screwing the needle into the syringe. Since god fucked me before time began I simply use my own hand. I learned long ago that if you want anything done you have to do it yourself. Anyone else will most certainly fuck up the simplest tasks beyond belief. Humans are a stupid breed. Most of us know what to do to help ourselves but our brains take a damned vacation when someone asks us to do something as simple as turning on the television for someone else.
The sound of metal grating metal as the threads of the needle and syringe marry is much akin to the soft moans that escaped the lips of whatever happened to have shared my bed last for a free fix. My ears fill with the sweet noise and I shed a silent tear for each minuscule shaving of metal that will drop to the dirty floor without ever having its taste of salvation.
Christ, it takes me back...
