Stimulant Stipulations
Alison Hallie
I snorted the sacrificial bump up and away into my left nostril like it was gonna go out of style more quickly than I could sniff, or worse, be taken from me before I was done licking my lips at the look of it piled prettily on the slight webbing of skin between my right thumb and forefinger. Once all the powder was properly put away into my sinus system, I dipped my head back, rubbing my nose with those same fingers, feeling the bitter, almost salty granules dissolve and drip down my throat in little liquidy rivelets. While the last drip dropped into my stomach, I smacked my tongue against the chemical coated roof of my mouth and I had several realizations at once, snapping my neck forward to face my bender companion with ecstatic, dilated eyes. I dumped the entirety of the bag on my coffee table and looked at the boy, who I knew was kinda trying to bang despite the fact that my kinda boyfriend had given us the aforementioned coke, as he sat across from me, declaring as I cut crisp lines of what I had figured out was meth cut coke that,
“I want to build a little world around me in which kindness, no matter how casual, takes precedence over cruelty, no matter how canonized. I want a world in which sweetness not only seeks but acquires solidarity. I want a world in which I find love by being no more or less than myself. I want a world in which I do not have to tell others how to care for me and stop hurting me but rather I am asked, gently, genuinely, what is it that I need from my friends and lovers. I want a world in which love loves its loves loudly, luxuriating in such sensations openly, unembarrassed by the snide smiles of cynics. I want a world in which I am welcomed and appreciated for giving back double the love I am due.” He nodded absentmindedly back at me, looking me slightly sideways, only asking, “So, is it clean or not?”
BPD Love
Alison Hallie
don’t feed me or
else i’ll come back for more,
scratching my acrylics at your door.
Alison Hallie is an NB hyper performative hyper femme, who loves petty side quests and poetry. Ali is a Nabokov lore whore who loves nothing more than to write through a storm and make wishes on waning and waxing moons. Can most likely be found hunting for first edition/first print novels and asking herself what IS the meaning of the blue butterfly.