addiction (3 variations)

The only way to become addicted
is to put the needle in your own arm
and the only way to keep the addiction
is to let the needle come back. 

I got high on Saturday.
It wasn't like I imagined at all
because instead of floating on my back with the clouds
I was an inch above my body
watching as it participated
in the life
I no longer seemed to be a part of.

Emily, I whispered to smoke 
one time is not harmful
because the only way to smoke again
is to bring the instrument to your lips
and play it with an effort 
at mixing your breath 
with the gray dust 

I got high on Saturday.
It wasn't like I imagined at all
because I kind of liked it
I felt so out of control
and I couldn't think
for the life of me
I was no longer the Emily Cashour
I had always been
or observed

Emily I called it won't 
make you a bad person
because the only way to enjoy smoking
is to do it enough times 
to become used to it. 
The only way to try new drugs
is to open your mouth 
and your veins. 

I got high on Saturday.
It wasn't like I imagined at all
because I do not know
if I will do it again.

Emily she asks how do 
you expect to feel
when you're so unsure about the future
that you cannot spread your fingers
far enough apart 
to see the secrets
that are written between them? 
How many times do I have to ask you 
this question
before you finally 
offer me an answer
that I will believe 
you are saying
not for me
but only for yourself? 
You are the only one who 
can control
what will happen in your future
and if you choose to open yourself up
you will allow in many visitors
but always remember
that no one will come in
unless you forget the scars that 
haven't arrived yet
and you open the door 
to let yourself out


++++++++++++++++++++++++++

For some reason

last night I

pictured myself in the book

Naked Lunch

laying with my cheek pressed against the

sidewalk

a needle in my arm,

whispering to the wind

I only became addicted

when I was eighteen years old

when I was young enough

to try the world

but old enough to feel

and touch

and taste

the consequences.

The street is cold and hard

and soft and warm

and confusingly comforting

But God, I woke up this morning

and realized that

I am not kissing the asphalt

not yet

not yet

not

yet?

I told myself this morning

Emily, the only way to become addicted

is to put a needle in your own arm

and the only way to keep the addiction

is to let the needle come back.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Lately I’ve been

walking with tiny steps

in and out of reality.

I’ve taken deep breaths

that I’m unsure have been

based off of

the air that I have been used to breathing

for eighteen years

until yesterday.

I got high on Saturday

and instead of touching the sky

like I had always believed I would

instead of kissing the clouds

in a way that I always imagined,

I was floating

but only an inch above my body

conscious of the fact

that it was still moving

still blinking

and still breathing

even without me inside of it.

I don’t know whether I am still

feeling the effects

of sitting on the damp grass

in the darkness of

a saturday night in college

or whether

I am still conscious

or whether I am still dreaming

of the future

that has always been there

on the horizon

leading me to a place that

feels as far away from home

as it can but yet

can only be described to me

as the home that I will seek

from the future.

One thing I have always been most afraid of

is addiction.

I’ve always strayed away from things

that threaten me with

temptation of the word

forever

only because I have always been afraid of

the word itself.

For some reason

last night I

pictured myself in the book

Naked Lunch

laying with my cheek pressed against the

sidewalk

a needle in my arm,

whispering to the wind

all the words I have been dying to say

to tell about how I am addicted

because my life has always been

out of my own control.

But this morning when I woke

I told myself

Emily, the only way to become addicted

is to put a needle in your own arm

and the only way to keep the addiction

is to let the needle come back

and yet somehow I still cannot believe

that the only hands which hold my life

are my own

and there is nothing more than that fact

that I hate.

The only thing that I have been sure about lately

is that my thoughts are strange

and the only thing I have been unsure of lately

is whether or not they

are strange in the right way.

whether I will wake up in the morning of tomorrow

in a bed I have always dreamed of

or whether I will have to face

the failure of

what could have been

what would have been

what should have been

what everyone in my life

has always told me of

but never shown me

poetry

Close your eyes and remember

to let the flowers grow.

Remember that once

you did not know what the word flower looked like

and I know it is hard to remember now

but if nothing else remember this:

one day you were small

and you sat on a bench and you wore a sweater that was too big for you

and your hair was in your face

and you smiled anyway.

one day you braided your own hair

and put it in two little buns

that stuck out from your head

like ears

one day you smiled at nothing

except for the sun that woke you up

and the day began

before your sorrows

and one day you looked shyly through your own fingertips

as if the only thing that could separate the world from you

was your tiny hands

and the only thing that was separating you from the world

fluttered and whispered and curled around your shoulders

gently; softly; slowly.

remember these words

you are still a girl in a sweater that is too big

and your hair still falls across your face

and tomorrow the day will begin with the sun

whether you let your sorrows beat it

or not.

and no matter how many times that the world has wronged you

your eyes will kiss the scars

because one day you will finally learn

that the word flower means nothing

and that the only beautiful thing about a flower

lies in the light on your face

when you look at one.

time

A new and vastly unexplored phenomena: time, and the speed in which it moves. Because in this world, one can never know whether or not time will move quickly, or slowly. And there is no normality--how can there be a routine when the way in which time moves is so sporadic?

One of the most beautiful things about this world is when time moves slowly. Moments can finally be remembered piece by piece, as a series of snapshots in the mind; like pictures from a scrapbook they capture a moment and make it a more vivid memory.

On any given birthday, time could slow down just as the candles are about to be blown out. The event becomes snapshots: the picture of her eyes widening as she takes a deep breath, the first few candles to give up, all the way to the end as the very last candle gives itself to her birthday wish and the only remnant of its light is the trail of silver smoke kissing the sky.

It is so easy to fall into love at first sight when time moves slowly. How could it not be, when each blink is so significant? Walking by someone means so much more, because when gazes meet they linger for so much longer. That wonderful moment when lips curve upward and separate to form a smile is accentuated by the simple fact that it takes longer for the face to accomplish the task. And it is when she turns around to get another glimpse at you: her hair swishes over her shoulder; and it is when you see her eyes widen involuntarily when she sees you again, and it is when she moves her hand to her cheek to brush away a strand of gold, and it is when you feel your heartbeat in your chest.

One of my favorite things to do is jump on a trampoline when time is moving slowly. Because one of the most beautiful things is being in the air and not knowing how long it will be until your feet touch ground again. And being in the air whilst the seconds are ticking by like moments is almost indescribable. It’s like a movie, the first one you saw that truly moved and changed you; purely and unabashedly visual. The sun’s orange rays seem to be closer, the color of the grass and the leaves and the stems of the flowers are all brighter and more enhanced. And that’s what really counts, isn’t it? The colors of the world. It’s strange how it takes being in the air as time is slowed down for you to realize that the ground you are soon approaching really is a beautiful place.

I’ve always believed in moments. A human life is so fragile and so short, and to slow down seems like the only way to ensure appreciation of the world. I wish there were more moments that could be slowed down. Because when time isn’t a factor anymore it becomes so easy to take a deep breath and understand what it means. And over time, I’ve finally realized something.

I believe in wishing and I believe in stars and I believe in today and I believe in tonight. But no matter what I believe in, what really matters is everything that is out there for me to believe in.

Shh, let the time come. But never let it go.