.over autumn.

art by Loralee Clark

by Lateef Wilson

i’ve decided i’ll use my last breath to just breathe—won’t be “god, please”-ing or pleasing god with no lazy last minute, i’m scared, just-in-case-of-heaven, i’m-sorry-for-living-my-fucking-life prayer, with my last little air—just taking it in, letting it out—then never again. there won’t be any want in that one, not even a next one like every other one.

i love them but. everything we did did everything to us.

i have to go home. i can’t keep grieving still living friends. and wasting my breath on dandelions for them. i’ve never said nothing. but “i love you” isn’t helping them and rehab doesn’t happen with “but be careful.” and i guess it’s hard to say anything, at all, while holding half of a straw. the harm reduction was just to not die so sudden—didn’t want to not die at all or not get high at all. i have to breathe. i’ve been holding it in, in tunnels, whispering things about quitting and keeping it a secret when asked what i’m saying. because telling anyone would mean it wouldn’t happen. and it still didn’t happen. i have to go home, guys. i can’t help. i’ve helped with the belt. and carry Narcan around like guilt.

i’ll miss Raven. i’ll even miss Cali. Girl Mike will call to check on me, quite frequently, to an annoyance even. i’ll hear a muffled party, in the background, as i’m told of everyone’s misery without me. i’ll say, “they don’t sound so sad.” she’ll say, “sadness doesn’t sound like anything, darling.” i’ll think, “sadness sounds like everything,” which i’m not sure the exact meaning of, but it sounds good enough—it really sounds like a cupped hand around the receiver and music i can almost make out. but i say nothing of it before i say goodbye. i don’t miss Fur that much, just this much: all the time.

suffocating under a pillow like a favor for a grandparent—muffling multiple withdrawals. okay so maybe that last one won’t go the way i said it would. it’s been miserable. i miss you in big letters i don’t use. you’re drugs. you’re god. you’re everybody. sometimes, you’re even you.

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