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 Sullivan