One Less Vein To Feed

Written to be a slam piece

We look like sisters and speak with the same voice.

Our eyes are green and orange and just a little too bright and

our skin matches the dope melted in the bottom of the bubble.

Roughly 73% purity.  Only the best for us, including rehab

minimum security.

That's how I got this deep scar on my arm: Four a.m. Up three days.

Science experiments on his living room floor while he replenished our supply from the day before.

The house smells of propane from the cookroom and the candles

scattered throughout the house.

We didn't bother to keep the power on.

Later, in the driveway, there's a big fight

a huge scene

We beat each other black and blue, you hate me and

I hate you.

We epitomize dysfunction by kissing each others' bruises while he holds a camera above our heads.

Below his waist....

We walk away from each other but not for the last time.

It's hard to remember anger when all your memories are laced.

Fast forward a few months, middle of the night, text message

 

you know who is you know where.

 

And no further conversation is needed.

I visit you but when you see my face you take that plastic phone and

BASH

BASH

BASH

it against the partition between us.

Somehow this is all my fault and I say

 

f**k you, watch me walk away. All you are now is one less vein to feed.

 

And you scream

Scream things you always say to me. Words I can't even feel anymore.

Especially when they come from you.

A few weeks later you recieve the same message that I did but we are in different places.

Overdose.

Emergency room.

Anger.

Sedative injection bruises paint me blue and green and of course,

you had to come see.

You sit across the table in the third floor psych ward.

The staff is nervous, waiting for me to grab you by the throat and squeeze until you see the world

the way that I see it, now but instead you say

 

Sobriety doesn't suit you. You're getting fat but maybe now our mothers

will be able to tell us apart.

 

I lean in, press my lips against yours and whisper, pretending my breath is cyanide and we will both die

 

If there wasn't a man behind me holding a needle with my name on it, I would rip out your eyes so

I couldn't see us in them anymore.

 

You smile.

You tell me you love me, too and to watch carefully as you walk out

because I can't follow you.

 

That's all I am to you.

One less vein to feed.