It looks like the powder they put on the top of glazed donuts But it is more like the rat poison you find in a box. It calls to me like a siren song And I find a five dollar bill between my fingers, rolling itself up into a cylinder. It’s crushed and ready, waiting in three perfectly straight lines So I lean over, placing my pink cylinder just inside my nose. It finds its way inside me quickly, until there’s nothing left but dust Which I wipe up with my finger and rub against my teeth. It doesn’t even have a taste, I’m so far gone My siren is quiet, her song answered. It doesn’t fill me with the feeling that it used to I’m numb to almost everything now. It’s killing me, I think And I don’t know if I care. It is the only thing in the world for me My siren and I. It might be the death of me But it’s saved me so many times I find it hard to condemn it. It whispers as I drift off to sleep Come find me when you wake. About Chiara SullivanChiara Sullivan is a voracious reader who spends far too much time wandering the well worn paths of her imagination. At any given time you can find her blogging here or here, tweeting, andinstagramming. Her work has been previously published on The Regal Fox.
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