My Morphine

Music – My First Lover: , Gillian Welch

“He was tall and breezy with his long hair down
But he gets a little hazy when I think of him now

He was always talking tryin’ to bring me down
But i was not waiting for a white wedding gown
From my first lover…"


“You really should hang out with a better class of people… "

I look around at the old newspapers, ashtrays and empty bottles littering the floor – the nightly obstacle-course to your bed – and find myself thinking that maybe you’re right; but you’re like my morphine and i’ve always had a weakness for the sort of oddly addictive seediness i sink myself into as your lover.

Long and lean, your hair like a sheet of gold down your back; i watch you unfold your lanky bones out of the bed and pull on your jeans, a cigarette already hanging from your lip. You glance back at me in the bed and flash a quick grin – the previous night’s hard drinking written across your face like an old, faded billboard sign i pass every day on the street – so familiar i barely notice it anymore.
We are hard-drinking and hopeless together; we live with a craving for each other that’s lasted ten years – an unspoken pact of self-destruction so sexy and comfortable it’s like a pair of old jeans.
I’ve drank every night since you came back, and my body feels it. My eyes follow you – as always – as you amble towards the kitchen to make a pot of your coffee, so strong it’s like jet-fuel; eats right through hangovers (not to mention stomach-linings).

I feel the wrongness of you and me like a yoke around my neck – and wonder why i’m here.
Love?
I was doing just fine loving you from a safe distance – and now i’m so close i have to squint to see the mess i’ve gotten myself into.

The problem is, you’ll never see yourself the way i see you…

I light a smoke, trawl myself out of bed and pull on my clothes – suddenly i want to get out, i don’t want to stay even the few minutes extra it would take to shower; we didn’t fuck last night – you were too wasted – so i can get away with it till i get home after work. I suddenly want to be back at my own place so badly i wish i could fast-forward the day.

I kiss you quickly and wish you a good day at work, leaving with the strange premonition that you’ll not make it in today.

Every time i look at you it’s like i need to get a fix – you’re killing me, exruciatingly, intoxicatingly, but i need you.
Like a drug.
But now i’m flying down the stairs and out into the street as if the Devil himself were on my tail.

I yank open the door into the pale morning light, the air hits me and i feel free.

My Morphine

Coriander Sievers

Chicago, United States

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Yet another Alaska piece…

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