Addiction.
It’s not so bad, really.
You start out with just one, just to let the feeling hit, and it rushes over you like a fire spreading through your body. The toxins cleansing it of all it’s demons and putting in it’s place a euphoric sense of urgency and bright lights with which to guide you. You’ll feel like somethings wrong, but that’s okay because I’ll be there, and well get through it and you can experience it all. Then it will start to feel amazing and all your worries and concerns will float away into the dust like they never existed at all.
It’s not so bad, really.
The smoke will fill your lungs and caress your veins and arteries waiting to be exhaled and when it does it will shoot out of your body like the essence of someone long gone. You’ll see things you’ve never seen before in your wildest dreams, and do things you’ve never even thought of. Your realm of conscious thought will cease to exist and you will give yourself over to the subconscious mind.
It’s not so bad, really.
When it’s over you’ll need more, and more, and it will go from that one time thing to one a week, to one a day, to as much as you can buy. Then when you run out of money you’re going to steal to get it, or sell yourself to someone just to get the feeling back that you’re alive. Fuck being okay anymore, you know for a fact you never were, you just want the feeling to hit. Until it does your body will shake, convulse, and you’ll feel like you’re dying. Your insides will be on fire until the very moment you decide to give into it, and as you do the euphoria will rush back, oh the joy of killing yourself. Every inch of your body will age faster then ever before, and by thirty you will look like a member of the living dead, soon to join the dead in a slow agonizing disease ridden fate. Your body will succumb to the toxins your mind gave into years ago, and you will become the drug you need.
But it’s not so bad, really.
The worst part is your family, the one you’re going to give up on, that wont give up on you. The one you’re never going to see clearly again, and will constantly talk about you long after you’re gone. The mother that’s going to be battling with a fit of depression because of you, the brother you got addicted, the son who was born addicted and the wife raising him on her own who has to sell herself to pay rent.
But it’s not so bad, really.
Who knew such a pretty little thing could do such damage?
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