You Were Only 19

When I found you in my work public bathroom you were unconscious and blue in the face. You were barely breathing-gurgling on your own vomit. I felt for your pulse-

Nothing.

I broke your ribs compressing on your chest, forcing blood to fill your heart.

We cut off your urine soaked jeans and sweaty tee-shirt- revealing years of scars and track marks.

I stared into your pinpoint pupils with despair when you didn’t respond to Narcan.

We placed a femoral line and placed a breathing tube inside you, while you lay cold on the bathroom floor.

We fought for your life for 35 minutes before getting your heart to beat again.

And when you finally woke up days later, will you remember what you said to me?

“Where is my heroin?”

I told you that it was destroyed, that it almost killed you.

Will you remember what you called me after?

“Cunt.”

I read your obituary in the paper 2 weeks later. You were only 19.

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