Forever Love Sick

Chasing the High

I've seen the junkies in white puffy dresses accessorizing with something blue. I've seen the addicts in part dresses, empty glasses, and smudged makeup. I've seen the clean ones in rocking chairs with tired eyes. I've seen it all. I just never thought I'd be working the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a box of tissues.

I've seen the sellers with soft brown eyes and bad intentions. I've seen people spend their lives trying to stick warning labels on them. I've ran from the ones that will eat you raw and stumbles in their leftovers. I've dealt with the dealers with nothing to do and nothing to lose. I just never though you'd be one of them with sly lies and slick hands, handing me something I didn't know I needed.

I don't remember the first high. The memories of the others blend together. My brain forgets the bad trips were you yelled, where you didn't answer when I needed you. My brain forgets enough to let me slip back into a calm high I get from your arms. Eventually I think the highs and lows are better than feeling nothing at all.

I remember the last high just like all the other junkies. I remember all the times I swore I had my "last high". After I found out, you'd been dealing behind my back, serving those junkies. After you never reached back, never cared it I got my fix. After I reached out and we fought. After prom. After my birthday.

Those weren't even though. Because my last high more than a bad trip, it was an overdose. My eyes rolled to the back of my head. I couldn't feel my hands. My feet. Myself.

Even now when I turn a corner, I wish you'd be there offering more when I shouldn't want anymore. And I'm past the recovery of popcorn and streaked pillows. I'm onto the five steps every day that push away the need and remind me now it's just a want. Like how you said you wanted me but you realized you didn't need me.