The Drugs In me

Inner Turmoil

Isn't it strange how smoke curls in the air? It's pushed past lips so soft in a breathy sigh and performs an exotic dance in the air. Swirling and twisting before dilated eyes. Eyes filled with pain and emptiness. Eyes requiring the high the smoke has given them and craving the life the smoke has deprived them from.

A once strong, capable man now reduced to a weak mess curled up in thin blankets in a sparsely decorated apartment. A man now a skinny, pale, dependent mess. So here he was, tweaked off his balls on marijuana and cocaine. Not like he cared though, he just needed the pain.

Rex groaned and rolled onto his side, the thin blankets twisting between his frail legs. The shadows pulsed in the edges of his peripheral vision and ice cold fire forced it's way through his veins. He felt useless. Alone. And those fucking voices were screaming and laughing and tearing at his barriers. His monsters were everywhere baring crooked teeth, sharpened like blades and jeering insults at the pathetic mess before them. They made his skin crawl like insects were under it, eating at his veins until his nails tore at his arms and shoulders and legs as his back arched in pain. Rex's crystal blue eyes tricked him into seeing the forms of beetles crawling under his translucent skin. His screams, brimming with agony and dulled by drugs echoed in the sparse room as his demons reduced the man into bloodstained secrets, empty needles, tears and a chest aching with emptiness so sharp it cut into his skin. Hair gone stringy, scars now raw, wounds never healing. His brain felt like it was being scratched at by knives so dull they couldn't crinkle paper but they still tore his mind into a bloody, quivering mess. He was being torn open and set ablaze and he loved it. He loved the pain, the agony, and the desperation.

This

This was the high Rex needed.