hardcore

All of my life and now I have created one 

What gave me the right to spew soapbox edits of my life interpretation of what’s going to happen to the person that I loved be more than everything since before I met him?

I love him so much, I feel myself die every time he makes it no big deal, says I swear to God. 

He cannot appreciate or define blasphemy, not yet. 

Because my soapbox stretches all the way from heaven to this hell I sit in right now. 

Keep on raising your free thinking masterpiece. 

Seems like nowadays he’s raising himself. 

Bad decisions that must be made hell or come high so the masterpiece can learn the lessons you bare the scars of 26 years later. 

Just like you. 

The scars are faded. 

Keep fading. 

What right do I have to employ abstinence when moderation has never been my strong suit 

How come I get to sit in the middle of my two person family’s kitchen that has cooked more than food on my stove in a puddle of despair rationalizing the heinous slaughter of his privacy and once steadfast trust in your coolness and tell me anything bullshit when I demand/warn this time next month the steadfast support he believed in goes up in smoke like the vape he quickly tries to hide while exhaling because I’ve approached more rapidly than usual. 

I wish I heard my dad and wife number 3 or 4 notice, and sober up long enough to lose sleep and tell stories about watching their friends die. How sad it made them. I wish my dad loved me to sit on a kitchen floor dying. 

Like I am right now, 

when I first harmed myself, 

Started to kill their precious little life.  

Maybe I would’ve stopped and there’d be no self righteous puddle to clean up or drug test to order. Because I was worshipped like I do him. 

If they’d said something, anything. 

Before the irrevocable harm made its maiden voyage. 

Champagne bottle to commemorate the occasion. 

In the the glass they proudly handed you because their parents had no second thought about their precious little lives either. 

When I was altered to look cool for the 15 year old boys that I offered my  my ignorance and innocence to gain passage to get the attention my parents forgot to give?

I was finally scared. Dead.

Three times,

I have lived to tell someone my real life scared straight stories. 

Told the first person what the the first hand, I witnessed story of a woman who died because of fentanyl, on accident she happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and ate the wrong cookie that the wrong fentanyl had fallen onto by mistake from a very good friend, who did fentanyl, well, does fentanyl.

this person roused gasping for air when she finally responded to the third dose of Narcan with tubes down her throat, a shunt blunt needle in her knee and she sat comatose in the ICU for three days, following her cookie just a simple chocolate chip cookie almost cost her her life. All of those made up stories about a drug she thought She knew, blabbering about something she read or saw on TV about that girl that camping trip who smoked fentanyl laced weed, ended up in the lake.

All of those warnings they were true, but now the woman that had you in her body because you couldn’t breathe on your own, she’s the one who died that night on fentanyl she died three times you were told that she was in Walnut Creek with her friends, she doesn’t have friends.

I was in the ICU on Life Support because she made one stop before going to Ross. She was very hungry and an accidental spill. A very fatal drug almost took the most powerful warrior you ever knew out and I am terrified.

I am more than hardcore now.

I’m going to save your life.