Failure Is Not Just For Failures

We were watching TV.
Just the two of us.
But I wasn't watching... not really.
My gaze was fixed on you. How glazed it seemed your eyes were, like you were about to cry. I know that feeling... thats how mine were the first time I knew you were killing yourself.
liquid pooling. Could you still see... or was everything blurry, like when you try to open your eyes underwater?
How your arms, that should of been still at your sides, were shaking. As the tremors reached your shoulders they seemed to jump to your legs, that were tapping like you had heard a good tune.
I don't think anybody else would realize the difference if they didn't know you. Didn't spend every waking moment with you. I felt as if I knew how your body acted as well as I knew mine.
And right now, it was the drugs making your body shake like that, like it's unstable without its source of addiction.
But like I said, I don't think anybody else recognized the constant tremors and nervous twitches like I did.
But I knew you too well. Too well.
Don't ask me why I didn't say anything.. because frankly, I don't know either.
Maybe because I knew your mood swings would turn it into a fight, that would eventually get us nowhere.
I sat there. Just sat there. Not moving or saying anything.
Just watching.
You didn't notice as I saw you scratch the inside of your arm and grimace, your eyes still transfixed on the tv, like that might make you forget the signs of hunger your body was pumping out.
I no longer had any ounce of pity in my body for you though. None at all.
No, that was all used up a long time ago, before that third trip to rehab proved just how deep in the hole you were.
You were up to your ass in shit and you couldn't even smell it, caked in the mess you had made of your life... and you still thought drugs were your savior to the conformity of society.
Wrong.
So wrong it was. I have to stop myself from screaming at you most of the time.
I see the way you look after a high... face smoothed out into this expression of peace and clarity while your constant tremors have stopped.
And then comes the hard part, the inevitable come down, that drop from the highest place you've ever been.
And it kills you..
Meth.
You crash, and like always you're willing to dig a hole into the core of the Earth with your own ripped off fingernails to escape the pain and side effects of that crash.
It's sick... meth. Your purpose is to reach that next high as fast as you can, but It takes more and more each time, and as you achieve it you're killing yourself piece by piece.
Your brains natural ability to produce the sensation of pleasure is destroyed.
So even if you escape the cold grip of the drug... you're in one of the worst places in the world. Happiness is something that was taken from you the first time you took a hit.