Dope- that word still tastes foreign in my mouth. It bites at my ears every time I hear that word somehow sounding even more bitter when it rolls off my own tongue. I can feel each letter tumble off my tongue and a small but familiar voice in the back of my head tells me to turn around but that word, that strange yet familiar word that bitter sweet word has already been spoken and the dope man has been paid his dues and the click click of lighters already has flame kissing glass. As the first hit christens the room in a cloud of smoke, inhale deep, exhale slow. It has begun. With one word.
Copyright © Wyndi Young | Year Posted 2018
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.