When I found myself settled into my routine as a junkie, I found exactly what I wanted in you. “how do you know all these things about me?” Your skin is translucent from the ashing and the scratching all night. You rub your tattoos as if they will bring you luck. You can barely hold a thought together as you drift off into the absence of burdens. “why should I believe you. No one even means what they say.” you light a cigarette to keep yourself propped up into our conversation. Slowly I lean in. “I’m not sure what it is.” I say this but I know it is not the truth. I do know. You are exactly what I wanted in life. All the pain you wear illuminated in scars make me see beneath the chemical facade you show to the world. As your breath slows, I hear your heartbeat beneath the ribs that poke at my nose There is some type of connection that drives me to awareness of the futility of our situation. Your eyes are glassy and pinned. Your lips are dry. Your hands are swollen from the circulation that can not quite navigate your punctures. You see me as a witness. I see myself as a participant in the drama that will ensue. You are my fantasy. Exactly what I wanted was you.