It just hasn't been the same.
Not since the bottom dropped out of our piece of the life, and we all went down. When one after another we and all of the sycophants , hangers-on, and hidden snakes in our peripherals ... scattered as the flood washed us away.
My own hubris got me thrown overboard and I was forced to learn to swim with sharks. I think back to what I did, what we had , and how things turned out; it's as if I've been touched by some magic to experience this life and to have made it far enough to write this down. I am grateful to the Almighty with all my being. Good looking out for reals.
But it just hasn't been the same. Not since I found out that she was gone. I'm sorry I was so angry with her. The memory of that last time we were together plays in my mind. I remember her tear filled goofy laugh; saying our goodbyes. Even after six years I can still smell her hair. The scent of camel lights, melons and mixed berries haunts my nostrils. That last embrace, wrapped up and tangled within one another's sorrows, holding on to each other; clinging to a moment, neither of us wanting to let the other go.
We kissed through our snotty tears as I got out of the car. We had spent the whole afternoon hiding from the realities we both had to face alone, but we knew it wouldn't be forever.
You'd be lucky if you knew her because; She was the dopest, ride or die, down for me , bad bitch you of I will ever know. Her children will never know what a true G their momma was under that mask of suburan propriety. She very slyly wore that mask and hid her greatest talents (and her darkest vices), and it never once slipped. Her death shocked all of those who never really knew her all along.
Those in our orbits, jealous of our symbiotic relationship and with ambitions of their own , waited and made their move, the very moment my back was turned.
She was beautiful, too beautiful for this world. Envious, it cursed her, for being so lovely, with an ugly scar. Heroin left her with a lingering craving and tempted her for 13 years . Her drug of choice: the best of her life and the people in it ; and she thrived. All along, and in secret, she constantly fought with that serpent... bravely and victoriously. As everything started catching up to me and the lure of the needle always around, she kept it together up to the day I went away. Three days into my sentence, that snake bit her with its poison fang.
Life behind a mask of normal hasn't been the same since she died. There's nothing gratifying to it anymore. Nothing glamorous, thrilling, exciting or even scary anymore. There is just a gut wrenching pang of regret for all that was lost, when I all lost her.
I know it was her choice, but she had been clean for so long, only to be cut down by fentanyl, some nobody claimed was china . She hadn't touched gear since she was a teen. She had a family and accomplished so much since her the overdose that had set her straight. Junkies are such master manipulators. They'll know at some point where to tug at your heart or attack your weakness into getting free dope or money for dope. That's what happened to her.
She bought it for herself through a friend that was only trying to get her to buy the gear. That's my issue with love and opiates. If you know what it is , you know how I feel about love
So I no longer will invest my emotions or trust in those addicted to opiates. The glazed look in the eyes betray what's really motivating whatever the mouth is saying. Nothing can be trusted, even if it's technically the truth. Their motive is Always corrupt, and with that being said money is green, and people are people. I will not judge you if you use them, (we're human after all ) but don't expect me to care about you either. Much less love you in any romantic or friendly way. I mean seriously..... What's the point?
