“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 was already tasting failure.
It wasn’t as frightening as dad had warned.