His Path

Throwing up
lights out and drug sick
in the back of an ambulance
(is that how I spell it?)

Red, white, and I’m through

said his nickel stained inspiration
as the lights whirled woozily on the buildings
blurring passed.

Throwing up tonight
it’s a rite of passage.

Growing up through life
while sloppily stitching the scab.

The powder flows through
and it feels too numb.

Going up without a goodbye
it’s only out of courtesy anyway.

I’m home and happily waiting.

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