The Drugs In me

Ice-Ridden Veins

Ice is a paradox in itself. A thousand colors melding together to explode into a reflective pool of mirrors and shards of glass that cut into one's bones and steal their warmth. Ice is a beautiful monster consuming everything it touches, sinking crystalline teeth into unsuspecting men and woman lost in the barrage of the blizzard composed of shards and memories. Yes ice, is both beautiful and monstrous, so what does one do when ice is trapped in their veins. When the cold is burning through their bloodstream and screaming it's presence with each throb of one's insistent heartbeat? Rex clawed at his skin, nails bit down to the quick gripping at scarred and flushed skin, tearing at the beast and the beetles crawling beneath the surface. Heroin is a nasty drug. Heroin is the epitome of ice, ice in it's fiercest and most brutal form. Heroin is a beast that surges through skin and traps itself in bones and screams like a prisoner trapped in the iron grip of the mind. Heroin, such a disgusting drug, looks so innocent in the vial. Looks so harmless, even as it surges through the needle. Heroin seems as though it can do no harm until it seeps into the flesh and lodges in the marrow of one's bones and no, heroin is not innocent. Rex finds that the faćade is fascinating, and keeps falling and tumbling after heroin in a blind daze.
Rex screamed, his voice clawing at the back of his throat in a raspy scrape, painting the air bloody. His mind quivered and shuddered under each blow of the thousands of hammers trapped beneath his skull and his eyes watered as his teeth tore at the scabs littering once plush lips. The shadows and depths of the room leer and laugh at the pitiful, agonized pile of rags and addictions on the floor. Drool mixes with the tears on Rex's face as he screams, and screams, and screams. Then everything stops. Time, air, energy, everything that has always been moving as though it were perpetually rush hour freezes in their worn and woven paths. The beetles beneath his skin stop scratching, and the ice stops burning, and the air doesn't smell like acrid and stale piss. Everything is stopped, and when Rex opens his eyes he sees why. Before him stands the most beautiful person he has ever seen, the most stunning man he ever could imagine. Dark brown hair and honey eyes, tall and sad. His mouth is set amongst lines that mix and mold and form him and it makes the man look even more beautiful. His stance is determined and his eyes deep and lonely and god, the shadows that just been mercilessly jabbing and tearing at Rex are now settling under the man's cheekbones and between his lips and his chin. He says nothing, he doesn't move, but everything about him screams life and movement and reasons to breathe and Rex is trapped in his honey flavored gaze. As the high of the heroin fades, so does the man, and time begins slugging forward again, and the air burns again, but Rex doesn't forget the honey-eyed man.