I am navigating on the metro, a city built inside my veins. The needle loads the tracks and my day launches through red skies traveling to Oz. These buildings hold ghosts and scratched corners, bedroom closets, and hotel bathrooms. A toothbrush cleans the doorstop to a flushed purple, but tonight the spins are scraping down to muscle.
When we met, I was sitting on the steps of abandonment and filth, clean skin and a dirty mouth. I played good girl– bad girl–little girl for them, bought back my church clothes one gram at a time, pretended to be an actress who togues Hollywood when the smell made my teeth melt.
When you come inside my arm, the blood becomes torrid then affectionate. I fall through the floor and throw myself into your amber gold. The spoon hits the table and the needle hangs under a band of aim and pressure. The night moves into my weld lines and my eyes find the dust of rug burns and Marlboro filters.
He’s standing over me and giving me directions to a place I find in the dark. His pants unzip, and you brush my hair back and tell me, “This is love. You won’t even know where you’re at.” When morning sneaks under the door, I find you waiting with breakfast and a clean spoon. I flip the lighter wheel back and kiss death on the open lips. You drown me in black tar crystalline and white noise. I’ll give you my last twenty dollars if you make this last.