Jaded I can’t even get wasted, the brown bottle bin empty.
It’s the gas, the final plunge that I think about each and every night. That infinite high that accompanies gross body trauma.
The welcoming words of the paramedic; the soft hue of the ambulance lights.
That Cheshire cat grin as I think I overdose on the self administered pain killer.
It is the all encompassing hug of the soft welcoming paws of hospital. The knowledge that I have survived again, that the bone can break and the flesh part, but I remain. I remain.