Therapy Bits

My cousin William was a heroin addict. He was on the streets, for many years. He was totally addicted, and no matter what any of the family said or did, it did not help him, in the end, he died of a heroin overdose, at the age of 42.

I wrote this poem about addiction and overdosing and I’ll share it here.

The spoon is not a weapon,
but it has taken more lives than knives.
A bent thing, shimmering,
reflecting faces I no longer recognize.

I used to chase stars,
now I chase stillness—
that white silence
that hums behind my eyes.

The world folds small:
a room,
a flickering light,
a heartbeat that forgets its job.

There was a time when I laughed
at sunlight breaking through blinds—
now it only hurts,
too bright for a body made of shadows.

I tell myself,
just once more,
like a prayer whispered
into the wrong kind of heaven.

The warmth climbs my arm,
a soft tide swallowing sandcastles.
It feels like being forgiven.
It feels like being erased.

And then—
nothing.

Only the quiet gift
of no longer needing
to lie
about tomorrow.

FOWC With Fandango — Heroin – Facts, Fictions & Fantasies