Whistle

Posted: May 26, 2015 in Uncategorized

Some people find comfort in the bar, or in the party, in a small bag of drugs on the dresser to be consumed in private. But then that privacy unfolds to others, because the lone addict is a sad addict, a self-destructive addict. The myth of the narcotic is that by sharing it, by being around others with the same habit, one is not poisoning themselves. Because these other people are here, they’re laughing, they agree, they’re still alive and they seem to have their shit together, so it’s society’s fault, and not mine. But the thing is that a ship goes down as a whole, the cabins do not break off and fall into the ocean, the crow’s nest does not snap and float along the waves, the whole boat goes down, all the men with her, the women and children first if there’s time, and the captain with a prayer and a slow shaking breath. A gun still fires with deadly force even if not aimed at a life.

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