“Are you afraid?” he asked,

Looking down at me

Sprawled on the vomit stained floor,

My eyes unfocused on the ceiling.

Reality seemed like an optical illusion.

“Who isn’t?” I retorted

Even as my hands trembled

Veins bulging beneath the flesh

Like cracks in the concrete.

I wasn’t afraid of death

The inky oblivion called out to me

Every time I pushed the syringe in

And I wasn’t afraid of failure

Perhaps because I had nothing to lose.

Huddled inside a dive bar bathroom

Cheap smoke blowing out of my dry mouth.

I chuckled.

I was already tasting failure.

It wasn’t as frightening as dad had warned.