That Feeling

The music distorted and low in her ears
Throbs in her skull with each pound
Of the bass, but the pleasure of liquid
Gold chilling and warming her veins,
Is enough to ignore the empty self loathing.

Needles and pipes
Can't disguise loveless mourning
For the life that was lost when that
Needle first penetrated porcelain skin.

And the pills that she choked down
With liquor and discontent finally kick in.
Then the feeling begins.

Time drags and lags as she slumps in the corner.
Shimmering memories and crushed
Hopes of serenity fill and spill from her wandering
Forest greens marble eyes-

And she wonders if this life is worth that
Precious, overwhelming, disgracefully pleasurable
High that she craves, served with rust,  a needle
And heartbreaking shame.

Consistent and anxious pins of fatigue
Take the pleasure away from the diamonds she sees
As she floats in the sky when the belt wraps her arm
Pulled tight to her hole-punctured flesh
In the hopes of ultimate satisfaction...
Or death, if it takes her first.