Dire Consequences

Nothing makes sense in this delusional state:
Flesh is flesh, everything is pain
Blind rage and feverish hunger
Force one to reach for the nearest object–
a blade, a pencil, a sharpened edge.
To cut, to dig, to rub
To bleed.
Bite through the flesh of another
by accident in this frenzy
of insanity;
I understand this, my friend,
I wish only that you would not
feel as the ex-drug-addict feels,
watching a person inhale and exhale,
to escape a reality unavoidable,
That, to us, is the blade; 
Is the pain which blocks all pain
Make me whimper
with your teeth digging into my flesh
Love you more
the blinder my vision
with every digging deeper and deeper
more and more pain
You are my quick happiness
with its dire consequences.
Forget the future question of a child:
“Where’d you get that scar mom?”