He sits in the corner seat of a corner couch;
Out of the way, he is always in the way,
Sipping a cheap beer and faking enjoyment,
Chuckling at jokes though he is distracted;
A fake phone call to run outside.
He needs to be alone. He needs to be outside.
Click, flash, breathe. Just breathe.
People stress him out.
Parties stress him out.
Life stresses him out.
This isn’t what he wants.
He stands near the kitchen counter
Just outside of a cheerful group
Close enough for the sporadic interjection
But far enough for the sting of rejection
Anxiously laughing at a story being told
By the guy he wants to be
He fakes a phone call and rushes outside
There was no need for the call, no one noticed he left
Click, flash, breathe. Why can’t he just breathe?
Memories stress him out.
Old friends stress him out.
Old places stress him out.
Someone shouts for shots
His mind flashes. gunshots. Heroin shots. Lethal injection.
Then he sees the vodka
He should be relieved but finds himself disappointed
Cheers to a good friend(s)
he raises his glass to a roomful of people
who barely even recognize him anymore
they are scared of him
a hand flies to his pocket, his phone is ringing again
Click, flash, breathe.
The crinkle of tin foil.
Breathe.
The sight of a needle.
Breathe.
The smell of quinine.
Breathe. Why the can't he breathe?
The vodka courses through his veins
and the memories come in flashes, then pieces
The people he loved, lost
The people he tried to protect, hurt
Everything he tried to accomplish. Ashes.
He is already outside.
He is already alone.
He fakes a phone call and runs
He just runs.