The Stall

I feel this incessant rush upwards into my veins. Light hits you, blinding and granular, like an inclination of beauty. I look for any signs of motion; for life. But I am alone in this stall; drubbing backwards; doubting. I shot-up the twinge of reality; to lose sense of the- flush abyss. (I wrote this poem for my friend Ryan, who is detoxing off ofheroin right now.)