Like a recovering dope fiend, I miss it. Going through the trials of withdrawal and hallucinations concerning it. Breathing with a lifeless heart, aching to feel just a spark of it. Feeling drained and weak, corpse like without it. Not wanting to go again, through depression therapy, to figure what this addiction is and why it’s killing me. To be put on morphine and in a Covenant House. Those places will not break my religiousness of fiening. For it is not a drug that I am abusing, but my addiction is caused by a drug like feeling made for misusing.
