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.

Breathe.

 –

do they breathe?

 –

The line for drugs

placed for ours

used for his

hers

theirs.

Whose?

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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