I Was Your Last Hit

You met her a few months after me,
when you were steady,
no longer searching for your next buzz.

You were Crown Royal and Newports.
I was sea-salt vanilla perfume and Djarum cigars.
And I was loyal to the wrong kind of sacred-
the high,
the man,
and every single version of myself,
I became with you.

And I think you knew that too.

What we were wasn’t a waste,
or even a mistake-
just two people looking for their next high,
too addicted to survive the messiness that came with it.

That’s why you made me your last hit,
and mine yours.

Smoke and honey.
Bonnie and Clyde.
Two mixed mediums
that only make sense
when they made a mess of each other.

You didn’t kill me.
But the detox did.
And the self-blame I gagged on after you left. 

You met her a few months after me,
when you finally got clean-
not sober,
just absolved
of me.