Just A Little

"Oh, GOD! Help me out of this hell!"
                   She screams in a begging plea.

         She can't sit still.
                   Her mind is ImPlOdInG.
                             Skin is crawling, demanding.

Rocking, rocking, rocking—
The sweat drips from the tip of her nose
mixed with snot.

Ripping at her skin, "Why won't it fucking
stop crawling!" Like a trillion bitty pissants
stomping and biting just beneath the surface.

Jerking up, sToMpInG her feet on the ground.
"STOP! Just stop the damn crawling, P-L-E-A-S-E!"

She walks the well-worn trail on the carpet.
         UP and down. DoWn, UP!
         Praying and begging. Crying and begging.
                   Screaming, Praying, Crying, Begging, Cursing, Damning.

Swinging open the door,
She walks into the night. The breeze wraps her in its loving embrace
s-o-o-t-h-i-n-g her nausea. Collapsing onto the lush, green grass,
she absorbs the cool energy of the earth itself.
And for a few short moments, She seems in control.

"Lord, please get me through this, and I'll never touch
another drug as long as I live".

For days, this becomes her mantra.

Staring at the ceiling, desperate for sleep
but sleep won't come.
Sleeping pills lay scattered about,
they only make it worse.

         Rolling, tossing, turning.
                   No use.
                             Back to the bathroom.

Coldwater flows over her sickened body.
For a little while, God has quieted the storm.
Eyes closed, held breath exhales.

She screeches, barely touching the tissue
to gently blow her painful nose—
         Red, raw, inflamed skin mocks her.

         Why in the hell would you do this to yourself?
                   NEVER, ever again PLEASE, PROMISE ME!


Finally, she awakens to a life free from withdrawal.


The sun is brighter.
The air is fresher.
All is once again good in her world.

Enthusiasm is heightened!
Time to grab the world by its balls!
Nothing is out of reach!

         Doorbell rings.
                   Friends enter.

Walking back from the kitchen,
a bounce in her step, a smile on her face,
a couple of cold beers in her hand.

Sly grins greet her as if they're
offering up the very fruit of life.

          Polished and beautiful on the outside,
                   ugly, black and rotten on the inside.

The wretched demon
who has not left her side
is no longer there.

         Her head shakes back and forth,

                                       back
                   and
                             forth.

Then the demon speaks,

Just a little won't hurt.

(65 lines)


Written for my sister Norma, who died of an overdose. She was clean for three years, The next time she used would end up being her last. Please seek help if you need to. There's no shame in getting help. You may not have the next time.
Written for "Rebel Poetry Contest"  [18+] - March/April Entry, Using the above
#2 video prompt for inspiration,