20 mEq taken twice daily, you
are accustomed to the soft diffuse red
fluorescence of the CVS sign, lined up idle
in the drive-through, a little hot shame leaking
into dusk air. The fireflies avoid the rotting
stench of you, dumb addict, that bleak 
acidic tang speckled on legging pant legs
and seeping from beneath broken nails.
Wearing a new blue floral jumper, freezing,
dolled up reasonless for the the pharmacist, you
cannot masquerade as one of those flowers, 
sweet honeyed perfume poured stinging
over soured wrists. You are only a jumper
in your dreams. Only when on the sparkling edge
of North Carolina mountains and in art museums
with walls of windows that touch the floor
do you crave a heavenly flight like that.
Glass so clean, cleaner than you’ll ever be,
clean enough you could walk like a ghost
through the side of the building straight into
the city, splatter the concrete in one swift go.
But that’s not your speed, you prefer the slow
dance of dying, trying not to mostly, meddling
with uncertain terms, elapsed days dissolving
into bad calculations guessing multiple variables.
You pour the ½ tsp Morton Salt Substitute 
into a Immune Support Pineapple Propel, chase
a 16 oz coconut water, the only cocktail left
that won’t scare you. You could never get drunk,
lose your clawed grip on reality, out of control
of your body, and the alcohol would kill you anyways.
You have better methods of escaping the day,
still within your consciousness, a high you can snap
out of with the slight of a hand. You pay the price
of only having to take a handful of helpful pills, 
all vitamins, all a mirage of health for a moment.
Now up to 5499 mg daily in supplementation alone, 
ironically surviving what others couldn’t. 
Needing it to live.