Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Junkie

All that frosting sitting there in my eyes,
that sweet sticky stuff.
Cream cheese glaze with sweet potato.
The “healthy” choice.
I bought it.
Took it home in my little white paper bag
Like some kind of
junkie.
Bit into it,
face first.
Nose diving in to cream.
Inhaling the fumes.
Eyes rolling back in my head.
Sugar pulsing through my veins
leaving me
altered
and very stupid.
My vision blurred.
My head spinning.
A regular drug trip.
And they say this stuff is legal.
That’s a joke.
There’s no stronger drug out there than the white powder.
I know it
and so does every other five-year-old out there.
He sells them out of his house.
He and his six kids
and his wife.
He makes them in his living room.
Day after day.
Fourteen hundred an hour.
He is the Willy Wonka of death.
The master maker of diabetes.
The orchestrator of tight pants and bulging bellies.
And the people keep coming and coming.
Each one buying six at a time.
Carrying their little bags and their plastic trays.
The door swinging back and forth.
The addictions growing.
Lemonade.
Cookies and Cream.
Red Velvet.
Wedding Cake.
Chocolate.
Peanut Butter.
The poor helpless creatures can’t stop themselves.
And it is all legal,
this slow killing.
One hundred percent legal.
I vow I won’t be one of them.
I vow I’m not going back.
But I’ve made that vow that before.