That’s what they call it.

Shooting up in the bathroom

hunched over the sink.

A different “girlfriend” every week

bringing the goods.


you know


It’s a cycle, a game.

In, out, in, out.



do they breathe?


The line for drugs

placed for ours

used for his




Straight access to party city,

who wouldn’t love it?

It’s the life.


But we can’t keep him here

just look. He’s not that sick, not anymore.

but if we send him home

he’ll just come back

blue choking blue.


Discharge to morgue.


Party line intact.

There’s nothing left to do.


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