I no longer felt pain. I was soaring, an intrepid adventurer into life's' unknown. Don't fuck with me, my mind was shouting gleefully. I felt the smile on my face, reaching up and touched the corners of my lips softly. Slowly laying down on the old carpet, stretching my limbs out as the small amount of blood clotted on my arm.
I dont know how much time passed. Perhaps none. Perhaps hours. Finally I sat up, my craving for cancer overpowering my need to stay still. As i lit the smoke, I decided on starting to walk back to my own house. It was safe at this hour, nobody was awake, and wont be for a wile.
Interacting with people didnt need to be an option, so I mustered all my will and got to my feet. I struggled to untie the rubber tubing, tugged my sleeve down, capped the needle and stuffing it all back into my kit. My eyes were well adjusted to the darkness by now and the small light from the cherry helped as I slowly made my way back to my window to make my escape.
I managed to maneuver myself out the window, successfully not getting caught on any of the remaining glass shards that clung for dear life on the window seal and awkwardly put the wooden boards back in place. I pushed my burgundy hair out of my face and started on my venture to get home, the effect of the opiates starting to die down by now. Pulling the last drag from the butt, I inhaling deep and smiling at the familiar burn it gave me as the smoke slithered down into my lungs.
The street light's familiar buzz was the only sound that broke the comforting silence of the night, the mist had somehow grown thicker and I could hardly see down the street. I flicked my cigarette butt into the middle of the street and shoved my hands into my pockets as my brain began to wander.
I romanticize and dwell on all past events. So that I never fell the difference of the cold or warmth. Simple content impassiveness. Acting on mental impulse of what I think I should do, never sure. And it has destroyed me. I try and escape it but I am about to be lost from myself dwindling further from the light of others, finding small nostalgia in solitary. I think that before too long, I will only desire seclusion. Until Death decides that my flirting should be taken to the next level and I draw my last strained breath.
Even if it kills me tonight, I will be ready to die. And thats one of the scariest feelings I have ever experienced in my life, is when you realize you aren't afraid to die. You dont look when you cross the road anymore. When you'd take pills, you take however many come out. You're not afraid when you hear those creepy, creaking noises in your house anymore, because you hope they'll get you. You seen out dangerous things because you want to die. You stop caring about yourself, totally and completely. Nothing about you matters anymore, and at some point you look at yourself and become scared of yourself. Because you're a Monster, one who only hurts itself. And thats scary
As my train of thought derails, I noticed Im out front my house and walking up the driveway. I slip my hands out of my pockets and made sure my kit was safely back in its hidden compartment in my over sized jean jacket that rocked various patches I had collected over the years. I take a deep breath, flew the cheap wooden screen back, and quietly opened the front door.