i'm a junky
, itchin, sweatin, rocking
nervously in my seat. chills. nail biting. scared. desperate
to get rid of reality
dump the bag out
take the pipe out of the altoid tin
screw the mouthpiece on
fondle the tarot for answers
three of cups, non-committal
the choice is in my own hands, and last night i was the
high priestess. as i'm putting the deck away,
the bottom card, death, flashes a smile at me.
Please don't smoke the mystery bag," he said.