Covert Degenerate

The bottle was out of my reach. I struggled, but eventually grabbed it. I stared at the bottle, admiring it. “I missed you,” I mumbled before gulping whatever was left of yesterday’s rum down. I have to meet with Antonio today to pick up more hash. I am dry. No pills, no weed, no alcohol nor money. Antonio is the only dealer that still lends me.

I called him. No answer. Fucking asshole, he is always high as fuck. He doesn’t care about his most loyal customer. I don’t feel sedated anymore. I miss the feeling already. The feeling you get when your brain is consumed by substances, I mean. It feels like it’s rotting away. I love it. I need to feel that way again.

Went out for a walk. I don’t know what I was expecting, honestly. It was the stupidest idea. It’s not like I was gonna find some Xanax, or at least some weed, just by chance.

I always say I’m a “reformed addict”. I’m full of shit. My pockets are empty, though. Empty because I keep wasting my money on false happiness. I wonder sometimes how I would be if I was actually reformed, if there is such thing. I do look like I am. I make sure of it. It’s easy. Don’t consume before you have done whatever you had to do in the day. Don’t look high when you are. Put your shades on, for fuck’s sake!

It sucks that I have to wear a mask. Everybody is an addict. I’ve met straight guys who would suck dick and swallow cum for the new iPhone. I’ve met people who have sucked a dick for a shitty job. Disgusting motherfuckers. Still, I just make everybody else believe that I don’t know what’s going on.

I’m a fucking pretender. A covert degenerate who needs to be liberated. Free of all the chains society has restrained me with. I need a liberator. Somebody that explained to the world how good it feels to be a depraved bastard, that there is nothing wrong with being one.

I’ve always been waiting for him. Just like I wait for my dealer to answer my texts. Impatiently.

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