Another Morphine Poem

The echo of footsteps in the stairwell
a sound utterly empty
like so many insincere words
like everything I thought I knew.
a puff of red in the reservoir re-affirms my existence
--it lets me feel again.
my shallowed breath
a puff of red
--it lets me feel again.
this warmth provides me comfort like a blanket of shallow clouds
--I am home again, I am safe again...
false security sweeps across this cold, trembling corpse.
and still I remember vividly
so many bitter sweet fantasies
of me dying again, choking
on viscous lies
that taste of backwards burning cigarettes, and
experiences unlived.
my thoughts trapped in infinite regress,
morbid dreams release me into the night.
and under the languishing moon,
dewy eyes drown in lament.
but as the blood starts to flow,
sorrow is replaced by apathy.
only to re-awaken to emptiness
the next day.
that emptiness which finds me always
I cannot repress it.
I cannot escape it.
and once again
the needle leaves its blemish
--purple clouds across my forearm
where fading dreams blew out.