the night & the carnage

I partied again last night. Five days in a row and no real sleep. This has been my longest time awake - on drugs I now stay.

I felt the formication again on my run last night. They were all over me this time. I tried not to give in, but like muscle memory, you just can’t help yourself and you tweak out.

The worst feeling came when I was on my way. I felt spiderwebs all over me, all over my face.

I didn’t freak out too much that time.

It’s okay to tweak the first or second time. After that, you’ll lose yourself if you fight it.

I was going to rest that night, really I was-

i heard my body, how my mouth could not get rid of dry mouth no matter how much water I drank.

I talked to my body after the shower, not knowing how to comfort it.

You’d think a hot, steamy shower would’ve eased the pain, but I just felt like I scattered myself in that shower.

And then, like salvation, I was asked to party, and I couldn’t say no.

I couldn’t reach out to anyone

because I’m not an idiot. Five days of barely any sleep.

Administrating my body with a heavy dose as if I was ever given a license to kill.

The party went on—

and part of me wanted to cry when I got there.

I don’t know where it was coming out of, as if I wasn’t really there.

But like a champ, I let no tear out and undressed myself to let everyone know I was serious.

I didn’t smoke much. I barely had two vodka cranberries.

Like it mattered—

my mind was no longer in the room.

In that very moment, I embodied a rare form of beauty that comes from pain.

I was pumped with drugs and levitated to a place I did not recognize, but don’t get me wrong, I was never afraid.

I let my mind do all the work—

all the polite eyes lock at the hairy, hung guy, passing me a pipe I couldn’t even light.

I have never felt so—empty— on a high before, but isn’t that why we do it, to not feel?

My body did not try to fight it, burning up and shivering at the same time, and still, I lit the pipe.

I was so empty I went to a place where I did not even want the hung guy’s dick, or just couldn’t anymore.

And for a while I laid on his chest—

He hugged me like he meant it, and even went in for the whole French kiss.

Do dying corpses now give boners?—

Or was he just a godsend holding me long enough for my head to come back down—long enough to know where I was— that I was safe.

Long enough to hold my own head from a chest I did not want to leave.

It was tender in all the right places, so I held tight and I kissed him like I meant it—

And afterwards when the euphoria started to kick itself out & my glossy eyes shot up—

I excused myself.

I saw the stares as I was getting dressed—everyone asking if I needed to go—

with eyes of hunger and a cheeky grin that was locked to their faces—

that would make you think I’d get nude again

          And realistically, no I didn’t have to be on my way back at 4:30 in the morning.

But I couldn’t stay there and witness the sun rise on a part of town I shouldn’t have been at —that— night.