Distance

I remember what heroin tastes like.

That bitter and nurturing emptiness

that I deserved

set its roots in the back of my throat

and burned the shadows inside me.

It loved me the way nothing else had.

I remember the way molly set fire to my face,

a volcano in my sinuses

and a textured rainbow

for all my other senses.

I remember-

not specifics, but as general

Feelings-

the escapes, the last resorts,

the uncertainties that I craved.

Pills from every shade

of every potent spectrum.

Powders from every walk of life,

all the colors and textures

of emotions I couldn't

Feel

elsewhere.

Surrounded by people

I didn't have to put on airs

to impress

because they didn't give a shit,

felt good

and true

and I mistook that for kindness.

I didn't understand that

Love

is more than empty bags

and powder-dusted straws

and rainbows of pharmaceuticals.

I had forgotten what

Real

felt like.

I had forgotten.