sometimes stopping the pain is the end of it all

i see death in your silhouette

no, death is intimate and romantic

i see void

i see vast emptiness

a life where nothing lives

no parasite will feast

fleas, lice and the like scatter

even the most basic of chemical reactions

can speak fluently in survival

and where you linger, life does not

you suck love, light and happiness

from the souls of the pure

leaving them demented, tortured

banging their heads in sanitariums

selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitors

anti-psychotics and shock therapy

when all else fails…

drilling holes in proper places and pour the ethanol

the torture you carry drenched in midnight ejaculation

self service, self rise, self satisfy, self depraved

narcissus and his pool of water-a swimming lesson

you are noxious when kind, napalm for the soul

great and mighty, papaver somniferum, the human equalizer

dripping, oozing, squirting madness onto trembling hands

but today your taste does not linger in my mouth

there is no fleeting euphoria of you swimming inside

as beautiful as you can appear, dear poppy,

your delicate petals swirling  lavenders, reds and pinks

springing from pale green pods-breath taking in every way

i now drift to sleep in the arms of true love

and i have never slept so soundly

 

 

turning a whisper into a tornado

humanity under construction

staring into faces of monsters

cruel jokes built of shame and disgust

such loathsome lusus naturae

at some time we all draw up blueprints

and build our beautiful facades

fake fronts, fake faces, fake persona’s

silicone, lithium, loreal, lsd

the wonderment of living

far away from the core

of the life that is going down

souls hidden in helium balloons

bobbing and bopping, shuck and jive

in correlation with the down-there-shit

it feels safe up high where no one looks

conspiracy, manipulation, trickery, intrigue

leave a tingling sensation and advanced sex appeal

there is something in the velvet voice of a liar

the seductive eyes of madness

capturing passion like fireflies

chasing excitement with fishing line

labs, lights, lamps, overseas shipping

fermented grapes or stealing change

there is always a way to get a bit further away

to rise just a bit more

more sex, more money, more power, more drugs

but as every balloon-lover knows….

at some point it all comes back down

tragedy and vanity, the great wake up calls

sending all that was up down in fire balls

the arrogant will walk through the ashes

dressed in the emperor’s new clothes

naked to the world but too foolish to know it

others break, cry, scream, dig

temporary insanity at it’s finest

lunar and solar love affairs

tucking away the masks and wigs

purging the lies and insecurities

discovering all the beauty within

allowing fingers to become calloused

cards shuffling, laughter, pitter-patter

the smell of yeast rising and garlic sauteeing

baked apples and gingerbread and cardamom

hugs and embraces and humanity and kindness

holding chins parallel to the floor

because no matter what there is nothing to be ashamed of

“out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars”

-khalil gibran

white milky latex of the poppy

there are always screams

day and night every moment

even though they are there

i refuse to listen

i do not hear what they promise

the payment is too high

and the reward too small

there are days i sit

seemingly calm

i am anything but cool or collected

the plotting and flim-flam started without me

the mission was impossible to miss

they tell me i need it

dr’s explain in hurried voices

“healing is not possible with pain”

but living is not possible

when junk is your life

i can tolerate pain

i cannot tolerate the cusp

between life and death

my lungs breathing-barely

my heart beating-barely

and my mind shut off

like the vegas strip

if gambling changed courses

and all bets were done

a ghost town of hard hits and recklessness

the screams from the corners of my mind

screeching howling pleading

“just a bit”

“it will be different this time”

“you know how to control it”

“amy can give you daily doses”

half-truths and full-lies

pretty pills golden, white, blue, speckled, yellow, orange, tan

different shapes and different sizes

sexy and seductive with artistic flare

a smoke-screen, a magic trick, lights and shadows

when it grips the core

when it defines all

life is only infinite tearing of the soul and body

illness, pain, fear, panic, writhing-i will take death

i will never again wear my death shroud while i live

little dreams in baby bubbles

there are some days the sound of you breathing makes me violent

i want to take you down with shattered glass and fist of fury

maybe that is my natural state of being-violent and angry and harsh

the screaming banshee warning of death and the reaper that brings it

while you instigate others to smash walls, hurl insults, derogatory flattery

spoken in screams wafting into my mind like the smell of hell and sulfur

there is no escaping the jagged edges of who we are, an explosion

sometimes i think i will go crazy or i have and hold a return ticket

a demented and fragmented dream, full color and surround sound

the sound of job and his troubles the theme song of decades

i am too tired

too pissed off

too foolish to understand

the truth of it is

i don’t buy into your pre-fab innocence

i know the dance of the fool from the tarot deck-it’s worn, dated

the back in the day recipe of fantasy with a sprinkle of truth

the piss, the smell, the pile of shit in the corner growing stale

the trademark wide-eyed confusion while calling contract killers

to attack, annihilation of the one person who hung around

the voice booming over the loud speaker not from your mouth

but reading your book of sadness and pity, verbatim

it’s such a cruel cruel world, you have had it bad-real bad

never your choice

never your actions

never your responsibility

it’s all a reaction to me

the small town girl with the silver boots

it was beautiful and fancy

punk rock shows, mohawks and lsd

you were the king until that night of gravel and poetry and glitter

it’s all been downhill since i came along, jezebel peddling lies

the nights in cheap motel rooms, staph infections and whores

i brought down the rain of crack and meth and malt liquor

i took your hand busting through metal for pills in brown bottles

that is the story you have told, the reality you wove into being

i don’t remember it that way, but i was never as smart as you

i recall begging and tears and pleading hoping for change

the bitch sitting on my floor telling me how to live my life

the smell of the hospital room a beautiful baby in my arms

as he held the gun to my head demanding to know your location

i remember frozen bank accounts and jobs in laundry factories

bus tickets from austin and midnights driving trying to find you

burning beans in the kitchen and missing medicine for the kid

seven years of children with questions and tears and fears

the same seven years of starter fluid and lithium in your veins

guitars to the head, seizures, fist fights and whiskey hang overs

time after time, year after year, fight after fight, the promises broken

both of us with blood on our hands and knives in our backs

now here we are co-owners of a mountain of destruction

playing who has it the worst and who done it this time

drawing straws for angry dope fiend of the year

i don’t know if i can handle anymore psychic warfare

the battlefield is soaked with blood and sweat

boots sinking in mud to the knees-our own battle of antietam

for once, i am down to my last dollar and my last hope

i can’t see painless way out of the forest and shadows

but i know i can’t go on like this, i am running out of steam

to hell with memories, fighting, forgiveness and fault

we are family, a mixture of dna formed life of beauty

give me the damned treaty and i will sign

i give up, i surrender

 

 

halls of aa, perfect ground for evil

there was this one time i got suckered

he told me he needed support, that’s me

it is just what i do-past/present/future

he duped me into attending a play

a play where everyone has to participate

like one of those mystery “who done it” parties

we walk into a room where the smoke was so thick

i could hear the apologies of those who had

tripped over the guy in front of him-0 visibility

believe it or not there was an order of operations

he seemed invisible, that is why i was there,

but this allowed us to get the coffee and fix it up

walking through the narrow space between

chairs and the wall, most of it an obstacle

a course to avoid the knees and feet

and when that wasn’t possible one must bow head

ask 7 times for forgiveness then walk away

he started telling the ins and outs of the deal

“yeah, you can’t sit down there.  reserved.”

“what? reserved for who? kinda bullshit!

who doesn’t have to bumble through

all this smoke!  shit dude!  i don’t think i

will need a cigarette for a week after this.

how long is it?” “an hour” fuck!

“i always leave early.  that is why my sponsor

told me to bring you to help keep me calm”

thanks random stranger who i have never met

what a wonderful way to spend my nap-time

my eyes adjusted to the fog of carbon monoxide

i looked around at the slowly closing surroundings

the actors ready, on the edge of their seats

they have rehearsed this in the mirror

for at least 3 weeks and 5 days, their time

that one guy-an alcoholic-starts saying words

they are words completely incomprehensible

babbling brook of bullshit backwash

as he talks i drown out and look

it’s a room full of disaster of every sort

i could peg them all-i have been them all

that girl: meth; the fella in the corner: drinker-still nips

over there that woman with hair so big you can see

straight through to the people behind her: baffling,

no whiskey, no coke, no meth, definitely not a junkie, hmmm?

the social reject finding a home among the demented

many holding papers gifted to them by a judge or

foster care agent, biding time rolling;unrolling they just need it signed

three of them are homeless and beneath the smell of hunger

and sweat is the taste of crack in tickling the back of the throat

the three just trying to get coffee and out of the cold agree with everything.

the guru of the drunks and druggies coulda said he needed to piss

and their heads would bob in approval.  it was what you were supposed

to do and not draw attention to yourself or it’s back on the street w you!

they, the three comrades of life, don’t stare like the rest

they don’t give a damn who’s there and who’s not.

they came for the coffee, the warmth and maybe a smoke.

i looked down at the hands attached to thumbs twiddling without knowledge

eyes and whispers bombard the aura, a disturbance in the force

“guess that addiction” the name of the game, they fill the reserved seats

the young cool hip jazzie kids who grew up on pot and x, very chic

a few of the fiends dancing in their seats awaiting their turn to speak

sorely disappointed when overlooked, watching the silence trap them

after the hull-a-ba-loo and the prayer and the forced hand holding-ugh

comes the good part, the q&a, the smell of new meat and fresh blood

lures them all in like a man in a desert falling in a lake, it’s been so long

some just come to say hello, that’s decent, that’s expected, no biggie

others more sinister saunter over leaving a trail of slime in their wake

tattoos and piercings eyes intensely peering into the heart of me

it makes me sick the site of a predator camouflaged to devour

the only exit is to swim the cool kid territory, less of two evils

hands grab me, turned me around, questions hurled like

stones hitting the whore buried to her waste in the sand

there is no evasion, no escape, they got me by the short and curlys

“i have never seen you hear before.” the voice like velvet, should be alluring

sorry charlie i have played the game i invented that invitation and patented it

“yeah, no this isn’t my scene.  i just came to support my husband.”

giving him the once over like he had never been there before, bitch

“are you ok?  you look a little sick.  need a glass of water?”

the surroundings and perked ears were a good indication to lie

i needed to lie good and fast, exposing the truth not and option

“i just have a bit of a cold, but it’s all good. and the smoke is so thick!”

more words, more nodding, all the while looking for the door.  it’s there

hidden behind the crowd and smoke like a magic trick in the dark

she leaned in and whispered, it’s just between she and i, don’t worry

there is no way she would ever tell them-those behind her whiskers at alert

ready to pick up any vibration in a 20 mile radius but honed in on me

“i think you are really here because you need help.  it wasn’t just about him.

this is about you.  your sweating, shaking and stance give it away.”

she leaned in even closer putting her nose against my skin

breathing deeply pulling part of me into her body

“not to mention you smell of morphine and oxycotin.

i think you are here to get help.  i can help you.  think of

your kids, think of him.  is it fair to them that you are a JUNKIE?”

my eyes pop open, the hair standing on end, about to vomit

or shit my pants or both simultaneously.  i underestimated her

or i was arrogantly overestimating my own abilities, it didn’t matter

either way i was exposed, open, fucked and about to explode.

pushing the lady with the big hair out of the way, slamming the door

in one movement grabbing the trash can, light on, pants down and erupting

mt vesuvius in all directions leaving no life moving only encapsulated in ruin

yeah i needed to get home, too long without happiness and these people,

something about them all reminded me of jim jones handing out kool aid

she, the leader of the socs, full of intellect and big blue eyes and arrogance

“being sick sucks, huh?  i have been there!  i got clean when i was 15.”

“yeah ok.  that’s great.  good deal.  but i am sick and i need to get home”

“dope sick!  how much are you taking a day?” her mouth salivating w memories

“i take medicine.  that is all.  i have a physical disability.  no for real i am sick.”

“hun (omg! former ihop waitress sporting a greatful dead shirt) we were all sick!

we understand.  we have all been where you are!  this is where you come for help.

do you really want to be a JUNKIE forever?  don’t they deserve more?  don’t you?”

bad dye job alchie in the crowd of the anointed lords of the sobriety circles

i look back and i wonder how long it took to master the honeyed voice and soothing smile

years, hell decades, of breathy whispers and intoxicating words, promising hope

in a life where hope came at a price, the air becoming a warm blanket and a nod

“look.  i mean this is all great and good and cool, but i need to get the hell outta here!

good luck to you and your’s but i need to go home.  i’m sick and unless you want

to be cleaning my shit up off the floor you will get outta my way and i can walk out”

“i understand.  you aren’t ready.  it takes time.  here’s my number, give me a call

if you ever get tired of being dope sick and crazy or when your family means enough!”

a crushing blow to the core, no protection from the trojan horse at my heels.  damn!

i reached the door that was so heavy it seemed to be made of iron and the bones of drunks

looking back i saw cool and the gang smiling sweetly at me, psychically reminding me i now

have a place to turn, i can get clean, and if i don’t i am sentencing my beloveds to hell.

i puked again before i was able to heave the door open, shaking, sweating but without sorrow

i mean i told them i needed to go, had they taken it seriously i coulda been dosed out by then

avoiding the mess i had just ejected onto their not so clean floor, the door finally pried loose

i was out, slammed the door, looking at him pissed “you knew!  you knew that was what would happen”

“i am really scared.  i think you need some help.  it’s all outta control.  it’s not you anymore.”

“fuck off!  i am sick.  i have a script.  i am not some street junkie digging through trash!”

“it doesn’t matter.  you have a script, but where does it say to break the morphine down and take

it all in one big dose?  it says do not crush.  you are outta control.  you gotta do something!”

“fuck off!  you smoked blood shots!  you can’t say shit to me about this!  it’s prescribed and cool!”

“i did what i did, that doesn’t have anything to do with you or what is happening today.  you are dying!”

passing the gates to our housing unit, the ants in my pants began to dance, knowing the fix

sprinting into the house, ready to eat through the lock on the safe box, finally some relief

i was so sick so i deserved a bit extra, two morphine and a beautiful oxycotin the blanket of sunshine

you have to crush the morphine, they were pawning off the time released dope on me,some beads

tried to run away, to pop across the room looking for the exit sign, they were never fast enough

i was the champion hunter of all things opiate related, first class quality junkie ready to fix up

sweet little ball of heaven, there was never hope for escape, crushing it between my teeth, sorry

drifting in and out, scratching and nodding, becoming the embodiment of the gods of olympus

turn on the talking box, watching fairy tales in bits and pieces, too far gone to know when to laugh

so following the lead of those around me, smiling and laughing as a leaned back eyes closed.

floating down the river of tranquility, suddenly his voice grabbed me in attempts to push me under

“look at you!  do you think this is ok?  you’re about to burn the house down!  look at your boys!”

i peeled one eye open, cursing him mentally for shaking my foundations, stealing my love

i saw the backs of their head:painted with red hair, one brown, and the other golden

biggest to smallest, watching the moving picture box, oblivious to me and my nap

“what are you talking about, asshole?  they are watching tv!  they are fine!  leave me alone!”

i was wrong. watching out of the corners of their eyes, hearing the scratching

the big one with the painted red hair walked up, chest out full of bravery and valor

i loved him, he was one of the four clean and pure in a world of filth and hate

“momma, i think you need some help.  you can’t even talk right.  your arm is bleeding”

looking down my eyes focusing on the red dripping from the cut in the arm they said was mine

i laughed, cackling like a witch with a baby in the cauldron cooking the elixir of youth

looking around i noticed this didn’t seem to amuse anyone else, the small one crying

man!  i opened my mouth in protest but the sound fell flat, no excuse was true enough

it was decided, the kick would begin the next day, but until then let me be. more crushing

the next day phone call to el’ jefe hipster for help, what do i do?  i got sick after 3 hours.

the honeyed voice didn’t sound as swooning as the day before in the smokey room

maybe it was my lack of sickness at that point or maybe her fan base was absent

who knows, who cares, it was pretty irrelevant at the time, just needed answers

to kick opiates is to put your life on the line, not just the sick and the pain which is enough

making thesane person run into the police station naked cazy, but the seizures and cardiac issues

every junkie knows this,  after a while you stop feeling high and concede to just run from withdraw

the voice on the other end didn’t ooze support it danced the fence of annoyance and boredom

“i don’t know what to do!  i am getting sick!  really sick!  what am i supposed to do?  i think i am dying!”

“(sigh of exasperation and disgust) just stop stay hydrated. your going to get sick.  it’s what happens”

“but i don’t think this is normal.  really i think i am in trouble.  i think i am having seizures!”

“then i guess you should go to the hospital.  i am in the middle of something right now. call 911.”

hang up, call mom, i could hear the door slam and steps beating against stairs and the door flying open

“o my god!  are you ok?  what is going on?  where is everyone?  what is happening?  did you overdose?”

real fear resonated from her mouth for the second time in my life, it must be shocking to see the person

you gave birth to laying on the floor shaking, sweat flying, with vomit and froth covering their face. a junkie life

fragmented sounds, weaving into words conveying the dire situation as if it weren’t obvious to any onlooker

carried to the car, carried into the hospital, noise, liquids spewing from ever orifice available, drenched in sweat

more seizures, painful and burning after but during it was a break from the pain of my bones smashing apart

she tried her best to explain.  i could catch little pieces.  she was wrong but my mouth was busy expelling bile

the blood pressure and heart rate the shaking sickness and aroma of systems long dead reanimated and releasing

telltale signs of a junkie with no dope.  they see it all the time.  course of action-shot of morphine then out

“look you don’t have to be so dramatic about it.  you can have your morphine, and a meal.” mr phd rolled his eyes

just another nasty junkie, a loser in the card game of smack worthless and demented.  there is nothing more vile

than when these show up making a scene and getting everything filthy with their sick, piss and shit.

refusing to let the muscles seizing again take control, fighting to regain my mouth, my words

“fuck your morphine!  i have morphine!  i am trying to kick dick!  give me the shot and i am coming

back to visit you dead tonight!  what time do you get off of work?  don’t want you to miss it!  there

is about 4000 mg of morphine and 2400 mg of oxycotin sitting at my house right now waiting to be smashed

and ingested.  it calls to me.  you give me that shot and i go home and have a party!  what’s up doc?”

what an unusual dope fiend this is writhing on our gurney.  trying to get off of opiates.  that doesn’t happen

his face said it all.  his eyes were screaming LIAR. o well what did he care, he still got the paycheck.

a quick call to the gp, they were friends, hitting the golf balls around while drinking dirty martini’s

a decision made, along with an invitation to lunch, to start a round of meds, send it/me upstairs

the strung out ones always paid, then they would do this insanity throwing a wrench into the works

was dealing with trash like the one covered in excrement worth it?  a mil a year worth it.

and the mess, that is what nurses and orderlies are for.  he just needed to write the order

an iv, something, valium? and a clonidine for blood pressure and it was night night birdie

the warmth of my comfy blanket brought me out of my dreamless sleep, a washing of fear

tearing at the tubes a scream trying to escape from my mouth but blocked hitting a barrier

huge tears streaming down my face, stinging my cheeks, feral and cornered lied, deceived

there he sat, head in hands, rubbing his temples.  the strong one turned into a succubus

a writhing hating banshee out for revenge or dope or both ready for a fight to attain it

“why?  why did you let them give it to me? i told that son of a bitch one shot i am gone!”

“it’s not dope.  they gave you methadone.  you are kicking real hard, it almost killed you.”

confused, angry, delirious, pain, fear, elation, negative, positive, love, hate all cycling

there were some visitors in the week i stayed locked up there-the boys, my mom

ted, a dealer or two to make sure this is what i wanted and to remind me they were

there when i changed my mind, but the price would go up without a bulk buy.

no one from the inside of that smoke filled room came or called no note no card

they told him to bring me a copy of the big book and a book of daily meditations

“this will really help in the hard times.  it saved my life.  thank god she’s getting clean!”

find your higher power, admit your defeat, find someone who will tell you the only

way to keep away from dope was to scrub toilets and fetch their slippers

that is how the whole things worked, ya know, you must humble yourself.

plastic chips, prayers with the forced hand holding, old timers nodding to sleep

because nothing that you have to say can beat what they saw in ‘nam!  punk kids!

the spiritually elite gave grandiose prose more elaborate than any preacher on tv

the cigarettes, if you don’t share then you will relapse and think of your kids

the sharks, the popularity, the stories that lasted hours turning into days

swimming into months of the back in the day bullshit dreaming of drink or dope

it’s the axis of their world that allows for the spinning of reality

one day the shark comes up asking for me to go to coffee with him

they have books, lists of rules, but they forget to give you the paperwork

of aa speak to english translations-coffee doesn’t mean coffee in that world

coffee means walking into an apartment with candles lit and a coffee table full of pills

a virtual nirvana, a junkie’s dream, with everything imaginable at my disposal

pills, soft, rigs, spoons, weed, crack, stems and chore boy, pick your poison

“it can all be yours, no one has to know, our little secret, just between you and me”

but see everything comes with a price, especially in the world of drugs and shadows

looking dreamily at the pile i forgot about payment, what was to be given to get

i forgot or forced it out until i felt the hands on my shoulders slip down my back

“i will give it all to you, anything you want, as much as you want, for free.”

snapped into the reality a slap in the face knowing that it doesn’t go down like that

“all i want for all this and more, is you, whenever i want you however i want you”

this repulsed me, it was vile and toxic, but the seduction of what lay in front of me

was too beautiful to even peel my eyes away, the bounty of banquet to a starving soul

here we were-two people who had walked this path before.  i saw it in him, he wore

it like a pink tuxedo,  top hat and monicul, in his face it was unavoidable who he was

but i was somewhat different.  my innocent eyes and pink cheeks shroud who i am what i do

something like a venus fly catcher oozing sweetness for the fly to land just so

pushing this to a certain point without compromise, a few well knitted lies

he wanted ownership and someone to feed his ego, that was the game

as the drugs flowed, and the coffee became a more regular occurrence

real life the real world was going on outside of me crumbling and decaying

one night of smashed glass and a broken nose and it came to a halt

there was a demand to pay up, spread your legs, bitch, you owe me

i wasn’t going down like this, and he didn’t know how intent i was on holding onto it

his face through glass table, dope in the purse, i grabbed the salt

poured it out on the face, a kick to the gut of the would be rapist in the name

of all who had come before and make him remember the pretty bitch

who won the next time he decided to hunt outside his territory

blues eyes and a cute smile isn’t really the indicator of trustworthy

a dope fiend is a dope fiend but this cowgirl ain’t a dope whore

the days of big book and daily meditation ended in a whisper

of my relapse and attack on the man who had 14 years

my dance of seduction invoked his defenseless masculinity

“then one day she just went crazy and beat him with a bottle”

after i had used my feminine wiles on him batting my eyes

and showing him just a bit of thigh, that’s what junkies do

it never mattered enough to argue about the details

fuck your big book, fuck your steps and traditions

fuck your 13th steppers and fuck you humility!

today i am clean.  no dope for years. by myself

there is no hidden truths to be found within

the walls of an aa room, only lies and deceit

a false sense of community until it matters

everyday a new fool is folded into the flock

everyday they are preyed on and lost

looking to those dementors for help

never realizing how fast and simple

they can suck the soul from the body

and devour it like a chunk of watermelon

activate opiate receptors and fire

there are days you are my first thought

i wake in horror and disgust at my desire

rooted so deep in every cell of my body

the unquenching need for your elixir

i have every reason to return to you

and a few i keep tucked

in the folds of grey and white matter

locked safely and securely away

never uttered aloud to anyone

my secret, my hope, my lust

my memories of the years

we spent dancing together

our conversations and fights

all the days you wrapped me

in a blanket of softness

that enveloped me warmly

i can feel you stroke my hair

when i wake up on days like this

the nostalgia of us is tangible

but it is a lie, a horror story

wrapped up in a fairy tale

princesses and frogs kissing

and the handsome prince a sham, a clown

an ignorant fuck with no spine

she is left with a fool and warts

the only reminders of her efforts

they leave that part out

it’s not the pretty cool awesome part

it’s not the hip picture of existential

surreal knowledge and experiences

painted by sages dying on floors

it is blood and shit face down in piss

when i wake up you pounding away

hammering holes through my head

i forget for a moment the times

you helped aid in the burns on my bed

the smoldering mattress sending smoke

signals of help to anyone

sos · · · – – – · · ·

scars of 3rd degree burns whelp in the sun

i forget the times of strangulation

as you wrapped yourself inside

and began to push down

leaving me gasping and wide eyed

days and months with no voice

my thoughts lost in the haze

some days i for a moment

just a moment

want you to whisk me away in your carriage

that one way passage to hell

leaving my body behind

robotic movements nothing inside

then cell memory kicks in

the real deal of how it went down

the pain unimaginable as my

bones crushed under your weight

stomach lurching turning expelling

the anxious shaking ants legs

sweat pouring out in buckets

my heart pounding 20 beats per second

tom grasset on the drums

feeling sound hearing light

the smells wrenching through me

i tell myself it wasn’t so bad

you whisper that we don’t

need to become so involved

just hang out for a moment

a few hours is all that’s needed

i fell for it hook line and sinker every time before

only just a bit

fuck it a bit more

but see it’s different

i know your scam

i know your name

i see your face behind smoke

the taste of you is poison

the bitter sour pill

smashing between my teeth

i once thought it was ambrosia

the drink of all the gods

i know now what poison tastes like

i will not slip down into the pit

you made me dig

i am not a dog, sweetheart

your lies of poppy mists and happy bliss

now echos hollow in my mind

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

just to stop the pain

shadows dancing on the window sill

too many nights howling at the moon

too many times of screaming into the pillow

seven circles around the oak

how could it come to this

outrage and indignation

vice grips tighten at different rates

along the length of bones

shaking

crying

legs dancing

shallow breath

whispering prayers to end it

just end it

prove me wrong!

show me how

you exist in this madness

stopping only to vomit

it’s the sickness of wellness

the sickness of ages

how did you become a junkie?

the more important question

what moral demon caused this

what sin

leads to scratching and writhing

nodding and burning the bed

how did you escape

the downtown shuffle