i don't want to admit this to myself,

drugs are in my bloodstream
all the goddamn time.
what is the next two weeks
worth to me?
i never look at
four months from now,
or two years from now.
i care about now, the next hour,
the next day,
and quite possibly the next week.

it's simple, really.
all i have to do is throw the pills away.
out of sight, out of mind--
but i am not going to lie,
temporary escapes are
oh...so satisfying.
i am denying
i have a drug problem.
i can't.
i won't.

i need a drink.

see?

i can't see,
i am blind,
my hand grasps nothing but the empty atmosphere,
it's covered in black.
i want to reach out and hold your hand,
but you stand there with your arms
crossed over your chest,
like you are too important, or too proud
to let me clasp your hand.
"please, won't you help me?" i cry.
sighing, you utter, "i can't,"
and you shift your body to show me your back
as you turn around and walk back to black.

i am in the sea,
unable to swim,
the water asphyxiates my lungs--
i choke,
and i drown, drown, drown.