There is no more horse, smack, H, tar, heroin, china. No more oxy, percs, Percocet, Vicodin, vikings, v for victory. There is no more coke, blow, white, cane. There are no more raves, parties, throw-downs, shindigs, soirees, or get-togethers. There is no bliss, blissed out, stoned, fucked up, higher than a motherfucker, nod, nodding, passed out. There is no more vomiting, bile, dry heaves, drool, spit, cursing, clenching, blood, crying, weeping, shaking, sweating, sheets wet as a full bandage. There are no more highs, exquisite lows. There are no more evenings collapsing into morning, the horizon rolling up its sleeve to bleed pink and red against the kitchen window. And there is no more me looking at you from the doorway, trying not to sway, defiant, insisting I’m not gone, I’m fine, OK, no problem, got it together, straight, sober, right as rain.