somebody i used to know

  04/18/2008

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that”.

And I talked about killing her, Shannon. Usually to meth freaks coming around for another ball of dope. They seemed to listen intently, that is until I sealed up their bag and gave it to them. I talked about slitting her throat from 3 to 9 and hanging her upside down so that blood drains out of her the way it would run if a pig were slaughtered. She deserves it, really for her free loading, her hanging, loitering, for how she just stands there, mouth drawn down at the corners, spindly-legged and narrow chested and her whimpering, big yearning eyes, begging for another hit. 

I ran out of meth and was becoming agitated, irritable and potentially violent.

My cheeks are sunken, skin is pockmarked and my hair is an unruly explosion of varying stands of purple, gray, red and blonde. My arms and legs extend out from my narrow torso, a slightly protuberant belly almost. It was kind of like the appendages of a spider but was shortchanged on the legs. 

Sitting on the wooden floor in my bedroom I lean my bare back against the cool brick wall, my heart tattoos glistening with sweat as I trim my fingernails with a straight razor blade.

 It has been 3, wait, 4 days without sleep. Sitting in the hell hole of a home, cooking and smoking glass. Now as the flushes of artificial pseudo energy recede and the realization surfaces that there is not anymore ephedrine to cook up another batch, my mind begins to wander into Alice's Wonderland. I am politely greeted by tweedle-dee and tweedle-dumb, rushed around the clock with a white bunny and left floating on clouds with the Cheshire Cat. 

I should mention the new addition to my nearly perfected recipe. I started to dip pieces of glass into PCP. 

An hour ago, the house was full of chatter of a dozen speed addicts, all pulling apart their hair, grinding their teeth, sucking on their cheeks, and tweezing their eyebrows. Now that the ice is gone, Shannon is long gone. 

I am feeling cooped up in the 2 bedroom townhouse, my mouth turns into a vicious scowl, eyes squinting as I begin to play my next move. I slice at my cuticles with the razor blade talking aloud, cursing (profanities) associated with her name.

I hear the screen door slam as Shannon appears between the door frame. She stands there looking confused, lost and dirty. Not like she needed a shower, but dirty like a prostitute who just finished a customer off in an alleyway, that kind of dirty. 

I pretend not to notice she's standing there, staring down at my nails. I finally tilt my head into her direction, looking up at her blonde hair half tied into a messy ponytail, black mascara smudged underneath her eyes. Over her head a thick trail of ants runs between the cracks on the wall. Feasting on the sugar from soda Pepsi splatter, the can had been hurled my way a couple of nights ago in one of her jealous fits of rage. 

She reaches into her jean shirt and pulls out a rock the size of my fist. I stop doing my nails, smile and invite her into my bedroom. 

“Hi, Shan. I was worried about you, where have you been?”