Death of the Soul By George Gad Economou

with a fifth of bourbon in my bloodstream I

fire up a cigarette and listen to old songs that

bring up the days after Christine left for

Copenhagen, unable anymore to survive in

the crazy rhythms of my drug-addled life.

she found me dead with the needle in my arm, brought

me back to life and nursed me through cold

turkey. then, she got accepted to the university and

left as I was drinking my liver away on some Greek island

with people I barely remember. I came home to

an empty apartment, everything belonging to

her was gone except for a shot of Narcan and

a note next to it: don’t die, please.

I wanted to shoot; I even went ahead and got an 8ball.

it sat there on my coffee table for two weeks.

I’d have staring contests with it while guzzling Four Roses

out of the bottle. eventually, I

smoked it. didn’t shoot. haven’t shot since the day she

found me dead.

but the glass pipes and the aluminum foil pipes

were a constant as I tried to juggle reality and fiction,

as I drank myself into stupors in bars while

believing I was having an academic future.

death avoids me like I’m a tequila-reeking plague and I

drain fifths of bourbon and rye while staying

away from glass pipes, struggling to recapture the magic of

lost years I can’t remember.

George Gad Economou has a Master’s degree in Philosophy of Science, currently works as a freelance writer, and has published three novels and two poetry collections, with the latest being his horror novel, The Lair of Sinful Angels (Translucent Eyes Press). His words have also appeared in Spillwords Press, Ariel Chart, Cajun Mutt Press, Fixator Press, Horror Sleaze Trash, Outcast Press, The Piker Press, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review, and Modern Drunkard Magazine.