Just A Feeling

Addiction to heroin

I like my room.
at night.
I like when there's no light seeping through any windows.
I like the smell of pot and incense leaking through the vents, dancing past my nostrils.
I'm sweating, my tongue is red from the slushie. I am antsy and paranoid, looking around the room.
But i love the freezing cold of it, the brightness of my lamp shade-less lamp,
casting evil shadows on the white walls.
I can't even see my floor.
It's buried under mounds of clothing and crumpled dreams,
wrinkled dress shirts and pencils, broken crayons,
dig down deep past it to see the blood- stained beige carpet.
Just a feeling.
The needle breaking past my skin.
My pupils shrink and the light catches my terrified eyes.
I am not in my room at night anymore ,
I am in a twisted scape of no promise, but bright colours and a huge dancing bunny.
And i'm smooth, slow and smooth. 
My voice is deep.
So deeeeeeeep, and dead.
It shoots through my veins and I hang my head back and laugh a little.
It smells like moldy clothes now and my skin is hot.
I snarl my lip and my face glitches out. 
The porn on the screen shuts off and i knock all things off of my bed until I am now in my room in the morning.
And I hate the light seeping through the windows.