Diary of a Drug Fiend

232 The Diary of a Drug Fiend changes into another to prevent the edge being taken off the suffering. It would be incredibly blissful if one could experience something new, however abominable. The man that wrote that poem has left out nothing. Everything that comes into my mind is no more than an echo of his groans. *““ Body and soul alike Traitors turned black-hearted, Seeking a place to strike In a victim already attuned To one vast chord of wound.” The rhythm of the poem, apart from the words, suggests this moto perpetuo vibration. Yet the nervous irritability tends to exhaust itself as such. It is so unendurable ; the only escape seems to be if one could transform it into action. The poison filters through into the blood. I am itching to do something horrible and insane. “Every drop of the river Of blood aflame and a-quiver With poison secret and sour— With a sudden twitch at the last Like certain jagged daggers.” When Peter crosses the room, I see him “With blood-shot eyes dull-glassed The screaming Malay staggers Through his village aghast.” It is natural and inevitable that he should murder me. I wish he were not so weak. Anything to end it all. : The medical books said that if one didn’t die out- right from abstention, the craving would slowly wear off. I think Peter is already a little stronger. But I