He lays six stories above his friends, six stories and six feet for a few of them.

His arms marked with blotches from needles of all kinds, some hidden under patterns of ink

But the needle he’s now using belongs to the hospital

And is supplying him with an actual treatment for his troubles

He looks to the nurses standing beside him

“Please, gimmie something to make the pain go away.”

The nurses kindly refuse, and continue talking amongst themselves.

A warm breakfast is served, bland and pointless, made by those who are trying to get by, unlike him

He won’t eat it. His monster’s appetite only wants drugs

He begs again, trying to sound dramatic, yet realistic

He’s done this before, crying and moaning so he can steal morphine from hospitals

Letting people who need it suffer. Why does he care? He doesn’t know them.

The withdrawal intensifies, his monster is upset

“Please! It hurts so much.” He cries

The nurse hands him a single aspirin in his shaking hand

A cruel, ironic joke that the experienced nurse plays

He takes it without hesitation.

He has his act down to almost perfection

Sometimes he score, sometimes he doesn’t, regardless

He can’t get frustrated, he can’t lose his cool. Or else

He has to feed his monster, or else it will destroy him

Like it destroyed his family, friends, job, wife

He’ll have to feed it to save himself

But then it’ll only be a matter of time, before it gets hungry again

The nurse looks at the charts, looks to him

His eyes wide with anticipation and hope

She sighs and carries the chart out the room

The breakfast has now turned cold.