A Letter to Roxy

I understand there are things you do to my girlfriend that I can not. I understand that you make her feel things I can not begin to recreate. I understand that chemically you are addiction at its core. I realize now that after all is said and done, you will win.

What kills me is the fact I can not stand up to you to tell you to not be crushed up into some pretty blue powder and whisked away in a nostril. I can not yell at you to not create some euphoric state that she cannot deny.

In the same breath, I can not ask her to stop seeing you. She is an adult. She understands the risks. I can only hope she will chose me one day.

A Letter to your Drug Dealer

Sometimes it's the haunting feeling that she likes to see your phone number pop up on her telephone screen more than mine. It's the look she gives you when you two meet. Or sometimes it's how she talks about you, like you aren't even worthy of lower lifes like us. It is way she looks when she sees that little blue pill, like it isn't even of this world. And it is that way because of you. And it will always be that way because of her.

I take out my frustration on you, I treat you like shit, I'll admit it. I don't want to make eye contact with you or sit on your furniture or eat at the same table with you or even help you when you want some extra help.

You have become the scapegoat when really it is her. It is her that we are this way and it is her that we still struggle.

Yet when you fail to provide or we don't have the money or maybe she's already spent $150 on pills this week, the scapegoat spotlight shines brightly on me. I am the reason you don't have anything- we should have met you yesterday, we don't have the money because I spend too much of it.

It is never going to get better until it stops. I'm never going to get better until she stops.

It is a well oiled machine and I am just a man.