Magic White Powder

    One sniff takes the pain away. It's the magic white powder.

    They say your nose might fall off but what's a nose when it's my heart and soul that it heals. One minute I am the remainders of the car crash I brought upon myself and the next, I am a bird of the big blue sky. My wings spread wide enough to cover my darkness.

    "Crippled souls" they call us. Those who haven't tasted the magic white powder are judgemental. They look at us with pity. They have no respect for our craft because of the holes in their bodies. They put band aids over their bullet holes, pretend it's okay now that they can't see the pain. We are the strong ones. We are the ones who do something to stop the pain. They call it an addiction but it's their addiction to pain that stops them from coming out into the light.

    Shards of our broken hearts are being put back together with the magic white powder. One sniff is never enough. Large amounts over a long course of time and you're healed. 

They call it a sickness. Facilities built to bring back the pain. The one thing that makes us pathetic being brought back because that's what's being human. I call that the real sickness.

    One day, when you've had enough of the magic white powder, when it has filled all the holes in your soul and built you stronger bones you can stand on; one day, when you've had so much of the magic white powder that you finally don't need it anymore, you will close your eyes and you will be free.