The anomaly of hydrocodone addiction has literally swept up into the needle of heretics and hypocrisy. A heroin junky with their spoon, melts the ice and spews the moon. He tears the hole and slaps it in, milky-white translucent dreams swashing over him now and again.

There have been formulated schemes, schematics, blue-prints, and plans swirling with their underground monument pristinely dedicated to the aficionado of the Rise of the Shem-ba-Laudinum.

A loner dotting his chicken-pocked arms, eyes like desires fired in Lucifer’s eternal kiln—hardened stones of onyx dripped over water’s surface. Pupils the size of diamonds engulfing the surf of a an ever dwindling iris.

Down 

the 

plunger’s 

path 

I go. 

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