The waters cold splash snaps me back to reality. I pull my head up from the bathroom sink. My eyes lock on the mirror, seeing the lines drawn into my face, showing how much the last few years have torn me asunder. Binge-drinking, drugs; oh all the wonderful drugs. I look past myself to the bedroom. I see the aftermath of last nights vendetta through the half open door. Past the clothes and other assorted indignitites that litter the half-lit room. I see her on the bed, still reeling from the drugs coursing through her veins. My fallen angel.

How much longer...how much longer before I give this shit up. It seems I ask myself this question more and more lately. I shrug it off as usual as I open the medicine cabinet. The colors shimmer like a chameleon on what was once a silver tint. Too many flames have corrupted the metal into the monster everyone now sees. A metaphor for my life I guess. One too many flames, and now I'm a dirty spoon.

A click of a lighter, a burn on the spoon, I fill the cap and then the needle watching slowly as the air bubbles float to the top with a few flicks, liquild squirts and trickles down my arm. I pull the leather strap tight, the bite of the leather against my skin pinches in an all too familiar pain. Pain. Does that word even hold substance to me anymore? Haha, substance. Substances. My life summed up in a word. I bury the needle and feel my heart leap in excitement as fluid fills my vein, taking in that deep breath of preparation.

I hear her groan again. I gather my sins back up, put them back in my "medicine" cabinet, and return to my bed. She smiles up, half at me, half at the ceiling. I run my fingers through her hair. She's seen so many demons in her life. Her eyes are glazed her heart protected from those tragedies, her brain too busy to think otherwise.

We lay here, in this apartment, one bed, two souls. Tragic and content. A fairytale in a nightmare form. This room rings with dead silence covered in labored breathing, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Body over mine she lays forgiven in my eyes, an angel for the ages. My little coke whore. I'm just as pitiful, robe in tow, track marks that tell their own story. I scratch my face with a fingernail too long to be confused for anything other than what it is. My eyes half closed, eyes glazed, dilated pupils.

In this apartment, my broken angel and me...

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