Heroin #1
Crinkle. In the palm of my hand.
I see black pitch foil.
I smell the smoke.
It is acrid, rotted, sticky in my throat.
One hand holds life.
The other hand holds death.
There was once a choice in these bold hands.
Beauty is now gone.
She has left me, for my eyes are hollow.
I see black pitch foil.
I smell the smoke.
It is acrid, rotted, sticky in my throat.
One hand holds life.
The other hand holds death.
There was once a choice in these bold hands.
Beauty is now gone.
She has left me, for my eyes are hollow.
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