Deeper and deeper I fall into my fictitious pool of sheer self-loathing. I am cutting into my essence drowning in my growing pains. Coming out refined like a sword applied to fire is just another chapter of my psychosis survival in this battlefield called my conscious. My twisted thoughts continue to exacerbate, prying my perception open to all things that cause my clitoris to throb in my panties.
I crave the woman's self esteem. Once I imagine her doing fentanyl over my decaying body, I sleep soundly. My nightmare no longer a shrine of her deep quintessence, I sleep to my inner voyeur toward her.
I creep on my love for her boyish walk. The flow of her brunette locks against the wind, slightly lifting from each impale of the vigorous air. The fucks she doesn't give about the resting bitch face she receives looks for in public. I must be with her.
I wake up solemnly. My rapist has decided to wrap my panties around my neck. The rose pair I intended to wear to lunch alone. Peering at the bags they have left me, I instantly feel sick. I know they are poison this time. She is crazy, wanting me to feel my own emotional pain through fake elixir.
I insufflate the yellow powder from the first bag I see. Not the smartest choice I can make as I merely play her game with her. I am blatantly suicidal, day in day out. Drugs, I cannot fear by default.
"Are you, like, okay?" A young woman asks me.
Fine. I blacked out in less than ten seconds of ingesting the "medicine" and have been found passed out laying on the shoreline. My clothes are still on, drenched in beach water as though a rag.
"Yes." My response is cold and harsh. Her face becomes sympathetic.
"Your face is so pale. I think your ODing. I'm calling an ambulance."
"There is no need for an ambulance." I tell the stupid blonde who reminds me of myself at her age. Clearly, she doesn't know if I am able to speak, I'm not suffering from a fatal overdose.
"You walked out into the water telling everyone you were going to drown yourself."
Oh.
I am a melodramatic when under the influence.
I take myself to the emergency room to find out what the hell is in my system. I am met by a doctor who reminds me of Bob, emotionless as a rock.
I wait an hour for my test results. The doctor assigned to me enters the room looking exhausted.
"Hello, I have your lab reports, finally." He begins. "The mix of alprazolam and fentanyl in your blood and urine results show no potential damage to your liver. You ingested a heavy amount of the opioid."
I blink. I've heard of this drug killing multiple celebrities. My home invader has officially issued my death sentence.
—
I twirl across my hotel room, my toe nails scraping against the floor that I cannot feel my senses respond to. Fentanyl has mended my broken heart. I am genuinely happy for the time being as I stumble onto the floor giggling like a clown.
My heart palpitates in my chest as I continue my joyride on drugs. I go through bag after bag. My giddiness makes my mouth twitch as I stuff my nose into the bag, snorting as hard as I can, the hit refreshing my senses immediately. I nearly orgasm.
In my visions, the Airplane woman licks her lips slowly. I am in peril to my power to resist imagining how she tastes. She tempts me with her shades. Her deviant grin. Her yellowing teeth.
I vomit onto the floor before my feet.