I see the sun setting over the horizon,
I hear the din of people walking home,
Wherever that may be.
The dirty streets full of slush tell a story of their own,
While I walk home alone to ecstasy.
Sappy moments on ancient sitcoms,
Stories half remembered,
reconstructed with a fresh stab of pain,
At the trials of an on-screen friendship.
Ecstasy, it is, and I think back to another lifetime.
Stories that made no sense to my eight year old mind,
Come to haunt me with my dead mother’s loneliness,
They envelope me in a warm blanket of memories,
Adept in their techniques of bitter-sweet torture,
As images rush through my paralyzed senses.
Ecstasy, I need some more,
And I’m close to living my oldest fear.
Drug overdose they will say,
But they don’t know,
I was only high on a gift from an era gone by

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