Seedless

I saw the light in your eyes
I knew it was too good to be true
Deep down in those Baby blues

I sit in the darkened room watching the embers glow from with-in. A solitude ember alive with-in itself pulses. My pipe picks up a partial glow. My mind listens and processes each creak and crack in the old house. The stars are shining bright, the view framed by tree limbs reaching for there next growth ring. Windowpanes etched in delicate swirls frost forms in the corners. The nuiances of starlite occasionally shooting the random twinkle of a prism. All is still and slow, frozen air. I am an ember glowing bright a faint light visable from the heavens above. My body is in a deep relaxation. My dreamland. Behind my eyelids a landscape of 1950’s nostalgia [Pretty Pretty Peggy Sue, 3-button sweaters, Shiney big American cars]. I think of her, the fire cracks. Am I one of the fortunate souls who can obtain enlightenment and find true peace and joy from the simple elegance of life itself and the power one can tap into if so desired. Thoughts zip thru my head, I hope one of these browsing thoughts will trigger a neurological reaction pushing me into dream world that becomes reality.

I feel a sudden sense that in my life I will have a seizure from withdrawing from benzodiazapines, I will hit my head just right, and over night I will be a savant. I wish there was a spiritual savant out there most are idiot savants and cant really function, day-to-day. I think to myself that just might make a good book druggie dope fiend trips hits his head and is a over night genious spreading metaphysical truths to the broken sciences that got shattered the day they started to cook the books back in the 1940’s.

My spaceship is ready and waiting for a trip to the cosmos, oh how I wish I could take you. Your hand in mine, electro-static is dancing its electronic jig on our fingertips. Clear your head of your daily troubles, ease out of your body and meet me around the corner. I will be floating under the streetllamp disguised as an illusion of hope. If you can forget your body in your bed just float with the wind, ride the thermal wave. Warmth will bring you towards the place my head and heart lay.

Its such a shame the human race is so fucked up. Its a shame I cant be who I want to be and I have to wear a mask, but than this isn’t who it would be if it wasnt who it is, Right? Times will change, aging will occur and wrinkles will form, a wrinkle in time. I will always have you in my head, why I can’t shake that I dont know. I often wonder what you think about me but there is no need for puzzlement as I am just a flash in the pan, some clouds in your coffee. There is no use to sit and wonder why. Dont think twice its alright, but what is and what should never be? Is that correct, or what is and what should be?

A swirl and twirl don’t you worry any more, what I want to know is? Have you seen the light? I can show you how just take my hand and we will walk down that lazy river road, down to the banks of the stream. Watch close as the water glides over the stones, disrupting the tranquility of motionless. Monoliths of a forgotten time washed clean of their design. Crumpled remains of city towers, swarms of flys, sight is foggy, the tide is rising. The flood has begun long ago who will remain. Thru the screams of disgust and helplessness I catch a twinkle in man’s eye he is nodding off against the old oak tree, the images I control. Imagine a cartoon caption, a cloud of words or thoughts, a dreamtime visit. Meet me at the 3rd stone from the Sun. Alignment of the courage of faith and disgust of evil the never ending fight of atom and quarks, split open and melt, energizing the feelings I felt towards you. Who are you? Do I know you? Have we met, yet. Were you one of the hundreds I have fucked, sucked, and licked your skin. Tastebuds pop with salt. Never have doubts or thoughts or regret. Who are you? Was it you I saw at the bookstore peering over the bookrack as are eyes met I looked away. Was it you I saw at a narcotics anonymous meeting, looking at you looking at me? Where are you, elusive and sly. I often wonder if I have lost you or if I have never met you. Will the the hallucination of time prohibit are meeting. Will that half-full flat pint of beer I sometimes swim in, drown my chance meeting of you Ms. Saint of Circumstance? I dont know, I dont know, I dont know.

The odds are stacked against me, in a game I dont even play. Finger your chips, lick your lips. Stare me down, am I bluffing? Place you bets, I let fate decide the rest. Look for the shooting star, reach your arm into the sky, grab ahold of the dust trail, palm those particles and squeze your fist tight, all your might. Open your hand and you will see a man. True and pure. A halo I shall wear, with out a care. Colors on a cycle, vibrating to the beat of your heart. Violet rays I project to heal your heart. It could be a start to a life of a starchild. Peace of pollen dusted my finger tips, fragrant flowers of the the Night Pholx I dab behind you ears, the aroma so sweet [Zaluzianskya ovata].  Will you dance with me, take my hand. The spirits of the plants, intoxicating alkaloids will guide us into a trance. Smile because it goes to show you dont ever know.

Cut the deck, deal me in, lets see if I’ll win. I have been laying dormant for years letting the game of osmosis seep into my pores. My roots are sprouting, you can slice me and clone me. Fill in the missing puzzle piece my clone is just my spirit waiting to join the otherside. Diffusing my love to all. Who are you and when will I meet you? A piece of me is in a piece of you but where are you? I need that piece I need to finish part of my puzzle. Come steppin down the stairs, combing back your ?yellow? hair, Come steppin down the stairs. Open your eyes to the fourth dimension, world as you know it is just a painting.  Seek the truth and some day we might meet. Wake up and when you do wake me up to as I have been dormant for to long. Numb to life, careless, irrational and needing to be redeemed. Will you help me? Im a mess. Do you like to fold your clothes neat. You put a crease in my mind, and I am having trouble getting it to release. United we stand, Divided we fall… 

Smile, Smile, Smile

Who are you?
Where are you?
I miss you
I think of you often
when I am behind the stars
when I am twiddling my thumbs staring out the window
when I am with another girl
Dreamlite flash
Wish to see my stash
Come help me make sense of the swirl

*]Dont blame me for my incoherent possibly coded ramblings blame music and its elevated back-door meanings spelled out in graffiti on a passing truck[ *

Got to be a joker, He just do what he please, He wear no shoeshine, He got toe jam football, He got monkey finger, He shoot Coca Cola, He say I know you, you know me, One thing I can tell you is, You got to be free He got early warning, He got muddy water, He one Mojo filter, He say one and one and one is three, Got to be good looking, ’cause he’s so hard to see, Come together in the octopuses’ garden and you just might meet me and Loose Lucy. 

Lucy sells her flowers for a quarter apiece, She wound up on the streets
She could not pay her lease, She used to want to save the world, But nothing to her matters now, She lays bout the subway station, Clad in dirty tatters now.

Lucy’s in the subway with daffodils, She lost all her diamonds, And she sold all her pills, She’s been around the block, But she’s had too many thrills, Lucy’s in the subway with daffodils.

Lucy holds a dixie cup, Of sixty cents in change, And if she looks you in the eye, You see that she’s deranged, She flew too near the sun, And fried her fragile wings, But to her faithful whisky bottle she clings.

DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE? 

I might, I dreamt a dream last night that would make for a better post than this one.  I want to know who they were in dreamland, was it you?

5:56 am tweeked, cant hit my veins I am shaking so hard from the coke, no benzo will help only a strong opiate.

Drug sluts all around wanting some thing.
Ballooned veins, missed shot madeness, rub it in.
Burned fingertips because you cant put the pipe down.
Stupid ass dumb shit.

Rake my crumpled body up with the cracked autumn leaves
Burn it and let some young kid smoking pot outta a pop-can smell my ash.
Hopefully it will spark a nostalgiK meaning for him, because its is all a puzzle with many missing pieces for me. What are those missing pieces…? and where did they go…? Is it in those days I dont have a sticky green bud in my coin pocket or heroin, coke, pill doper, methadone drinking basically insane mental, posssibly OCD, bi-polar, FREAK.  I gotta pop Mothers little helpers before I even need help, the delay in onset can mean a needle in my arm or a relaxing afternoon.

Hot late summer evening, smacked up and relaxed drinking hot chocolate with 3 sugars wearing a sweatshirt and watching the sunset into a palet of relaxation, my girlfriend begging for sex, I am to engulfed in the beauty of nature to care right now, maybe later honey, I dont feel like it, sorry.

19 yr old girls that purposely bend down in front of you showing of their ass, if I wasn’t so geeked off the nightmare of the dark cloud of insecerutiy. I woulda stopped those nice, innocent young cocaine non-stop talking mouths and stuff um fulla my cock or something like that. Weed huh, Blue label pour me a drink…

Lick, suck, fuck my dicks not hard. Why dont you suck on it for a bit, what pills are in your pocket and pass the remote while your at it?

The old New Balances hit the wet pavement and slowly shake and shuffle back and forth, as his hand extends the foil packets get delivered to there target. Bombs away…. Ahhh we got a miss-fire, you stupid fuck. Blame it on the traffic, blame it on the shitty tie-off with the seatbelt, blame it on the dull needle, shit blame it on me, but don’t blame your habit on me.

Wrapped up warm, waiting for the day when the blanket gets ripped away and forced to sleep on cold broken (probably like your mind) concrete again. Lick the sidewalk you like that, drool like the fool you are? Go masterbate on the public drinking fountain. While I take a pill, get stoned, and think about some girl in pigtails, multi-tasking.

Drugs my inner mind loves, the crack of the old oak tree, lick my face and sucka my balls. Man I am bored and tired of my girlfriend and drugs and endless miscellaneous bullshit. I am so addicted to the lifestyle of abuse, chemical that is. Cold hardened idiot, dope fiend, jail pasty boy, lunatic, or just the new messah to usher us into the the next decade of shit. Chicago has offically de-criminalized maryjane, about time. Bring on the medical marijuana next damn it. I’d rather smoke a joint than endlessly pop colored pills. Heaven forbid our govt. does something constructive.

Your face is pale it the opposite of that blottly injection on your forearm you just missed. itchy, itch rash.  They don’t call it the 1/2 hour rash for no reason. Does it matter though becasue your high and you could give a shit about a blotchy injection site. God I could ramble about stuip shit all night but I need to packer up, swing for the fences, fall down and just stare at the stars… not rock-stars not trax-stars, but outerspace shit. You know like when you were 15 yrs old droppin a postage stamp of grade A, blu blotter on your tongue having the whole world figured out, bliss in a hot-tub under the harvest moon

Silver space ships flying accross the sun,
what neil young?
I am perpetually young
forever young or forever insane or insanely stupid

No matter as I am not strung out today, I am saddened by many things I wont get into but what has become of me? Where did my dreams go when I was smacked out for 15 yrs. Is it all a big joke or is a planned event?  I’ll pray the rosary tonight, maybee a shaft of light will shimmer into my window…

Like an angel, standing in a shaft of light
Rising up to paradise, I know I’m gonna shine
My time coming, anyday, don’t worry bout me, no
It’s gonna be just like they say, them voices tell me so
Seems so long I felt this way and time sure passin’ slow
Still I know I lead the way, they tell me where I go
Don’t worry bout me, no no, don’t worry bout me, no
And I’m in no hurry, no no no, I know where not to go
Chicago, a prophet on the burning shore
Chicago, I’ll be knocking on the golden door
Like an angel, standing in a shaft of light
Rising up to paradise, I know I’m gonna shine

The percentage you’re paying is too high priced
While you’re living beyond all your means
And the man in the suit has just bought a new car
From the profit he’s made on your dreams
But today you just read that the man was shot dead
By a gun that didn’t make any noise
But it wasn’t the bullet that laid him to rest was
The low spark of high-heeled boys - Steve Winwood

Walking on the moon
american flag flying high
lsd dreams

careless youth
high as a kite
windy city
4th of july
mushrooms and cannabutter
huge parties
good times
friends
girls galore
over grow - green thumb
pinwheels and fireworks
hotdogs and corn-on-the-cob
nicotine and cough syrup
caffeine and amphetamines
pharmacy job @ 13
little black book of pills
ADD bitch, haze

corner street hustlers
20 dollar sluts
rocks in my head
heroin in my veins
years wasted

methadone
pink addicted to the taste
why am I taking this crap
years wasted
need a fix
poss. of narcotics

fiend
dirty smelly
puke-covered car
to sick to stop
just one more hit
one more bag
please…
jail

I’d do it for you
get the fuck outta my car
gimme your money

stolen cars
pawn shops
gas-and-go’s
steal rob cheat
american dreams
pawn shops on every corner
“No Dad I didnt steal your power tools”, I swear
junked out lies

madness
rehab…..fiend
back on the street
fresh brown liquid 3cc
chemical rush
red and blues 5-0
county jail
gangstar-neutron
high in jail
20 bags for 3 candybars, 2 packs of smokes
i need bail
thanks parents, I swear this is the end, the last time.

20 mins later
needle in my arm
shaking
oh the feeling
no pain no gain
pathetic
death? suicide?
shrinks meds
help me
shaking

Relocate to California
bitches, the surf, and green buds
speed & stuck-up people not my scene
crystal and tar
junked

Sweet home chicago
addicted to the act
warm car, cold ghetto
hundred dollars for a day of feeling ok
fuck-off, slut
do what ever it takes for a hit
rehab
probation
junked-out, lies
rehab

Relocate NYC
sure mom
stock up on dope
run out quick
need to score
ahhh a savior
dressed in week old rags
ratty dreads
good heroin
mom…..western union NOW!!!
again and again
I will send you a check every wends.
coke shots
speeding to the end of the galaxy
comedown hard
Hep C, junked out freaks
Cops, mexicano’s
homeless soup kitchens
needle exchanges
neat kits
depressing
the Bowery
Avenue A and Houston
enter the junk

Fly back home
dreaming of chicago dope
i need it, I want it, its mine
why oh why is this happening to me
what did I do to deserve this
pain pain
isolation
cant cry
no emotions
withdrawl
ONE -phone call
“Lets go, Ill buy”
split-second YES
back on the white pony
madness

NA meeting
what freaks
feelings? remorse?
ahh shit
cant deal
the cards are all bunk

what to do
what to do
type it out
push the keys

relapse tomorrow?
today, now?
cant go back
I will die

Inner-space
pot and mushrooms
get back, get back
to where it all began
meds help
pray
oh lordy what have I done

Friends die
Friends go to the joint
Friend in rehab for years on end
Friends are running slim
3 od’s in the past 2 weeks
May your wishes all come true
Fuck joo

Orange pills [buprenorphine]
lifesaver
used abused
pharmacuetial over load
stressed about life
back on the junk
back on the pills
back to life?

Clueless…???
15 years down the drain
15 years in the vein
Endocarditis and abscess nightmares
Cadillac’s and lincoln’s
American dreams
Dream a little dream for me…

Written by Lou Reed
Original Version - The Gift
Edited by Klone #3

herowinaddictione

Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit. It was now Mid-August which meant he had been separated from Marsha for more than two months. Two months, and all he had to show was three dog-eared letters and two very expensive long-distance phone calls. True, when school had ended and she’d returned to Wisconsin, and he to Locust, Pennsylvania, she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity. She would date occasionally, but she prefered her very best friend, Sheila and her perky little breasts for amusement. She would try and remain faithful but the afternoon delights with Sheila she kept quite. She struggled to stay off smack and filled her days with her Mother’s pill bottles, barbituates, yum. She was always in a daze.

Lately Waldo had begun to worry. He had trouble sleeping at night and when he did, he had horrible dreams. He lay awake at night, tossing and turning underneath his pleated quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes as he pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor, pills, heroin and the smooth soothing of some neanderthal, finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion. It was more than the human mind could bear. So his evening’s soon turned black as his doctor prescribed him Chloral Hydrate and soon he was passed out in his bed with his shoes still on.

Still visions of Marsha’s faithlessness and sobriety haunted him. Daytime fantasies of sexual abandon and needle fixations permeated his thoughts. And the thing was, they wouldn’t understand how she really was. He, Waldo, alone understood this. He had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her tight little body. He had made her smile. She needed him, and he wasn’t there (Awww…).

The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummers’ Parade was scheduled to appear. He’d just finished nicking some cola’s of homegrown from the Edelsons back lawn. Which he sold for a mere twenty dollars a lid. He had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from Marsha. There was nothing but a pamphlet from Phytoextractum inquiring into his plant and extract needs. At least they cared enough to write.

It was a New York company. You could go anywhere in the mails. Then it struck him. He didn’t have enough money to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion, true, but why not mail himself? It was absurdly simple. He would ship himself parcel post, special delivery. The next day Waldo went to the supermarket to purchase the necessary equipment. He bought masking tape, a staple gun and a medium sized cardboard box just right for a person of his build. He judged that with a minimum of jostling he could ride quite comfortably. A few airholes, some water, perhaps some midnight bong hits, and it would probably be as good as going tourist.

By Friday afternoon, Waldo was set. He was thoroughly packed and the post office had agreed to pick him up at three o’clock. He’d marked the package “Fragile”, and as he sat curled up inside, resting on the foam rubber cushioning he’d thoughtfully included, he tried to picture the look of awe and happiness on Marshas face as she opened her door, saw the package, tipped the deliverer, and then opened it to see her Waldo finally there in person. She would kiss him, and then maybe they could see a movie or shoot some heroin. If he’d only thought of this before. Suddenly rough hands gripped his package and he felt himself borne up. He landed with a thud in a truck and was off.

Marsha Bronson had just finished the last of her Mothers Seconal. It had been a very rough weekend. She had to remember not to drink, smoke, and pop pills like that. Bill had been nice about it though. After he railed her in the backseat of his dad’s Lincoln Mark II he’d said he still respected her and, after all, it was certainly the way of nature, and even though, no he didn’t love her, he did feel an affection for her. And after all, they were grown adults. Oh, what Bill could teach Waldo but that seemed many years ago.

Sheila Klein, her very, very best friend, walked in through the porch screen door and into the kitchen. “Oh gawd, it’s absolutely maudlin outside.” “Ach, I know what you mean, I feel all icky!” Marsha loosening the belt on her cotton robe with the silk outer edge, hoping Sheila would see her slight exposed breast. Sheila ran her finger over some amphetamine grains on the kitchen table, licked her finger and made a smiling face. “I’m supposed to be taking these amphetamines to lose weight, but,” she wrinkled her nose, “they make me feel like running laps.” Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, an exercise she’d seen on tv. “God, don’t even talk about that.” She got up from the table and went to the sink where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue Placidyl and Valium. “Want one? Supposed to be better than my pussy, she said with a wink,” and then attempted to touch her knees. “I don’t think I’ll ever touch a line of smack again.”

She gave up and sat down, this time nearer the small table that supported the telephone. “Maybe Bill’ll call,” she said to Sheila’s glance. Sheila nibbled on a valium. “After last night, I thought maybe you’d be through with him.” “I know what you mean. My God, he was like an octopus. Hands all over the place, the loser couldnt even stay hard.” She gestured, raising her arms upwards in defeat. “The thing is, after a while, you get tired of fighting with him, you know, and after all I didn’t really do anything Friday and Saturday so I kind of owed it to him. You know what I mean. Winking at Sheila, hoping for a quicky. She started to scratch, Ahh the famed opiate itch, if only Shelia would scratch it.

Sheila was giggling with her hand over her mouth. I’ll tell you, I feel the same way, and even after a while, here she bent forward pushing her small breasts into Marsha, brushing her with her hard nipples, “I want to get naked” She was laughing very loudly as she made her way to her parents liquor cabinet, that bottle of Gin was calling her name.  She needed to get loose before the family room floor fucking would begin.
It was at this point that Mr. Jameson of the Clarence Darrow Post Office rang the doorbell of the large stucco colored frame house, interupting what would have been a nice, sweaty, lesbian muff fest. When Marsha Bronson opened the door, he helped her carry the package in. He had his yellow and his green slips of paper signed and left with a 15 cent tip that Marsha had gotten out of her mother’s small beige pocketbook in the den, along with a fiver she pocketed for herself. “What do you think it is?” Sheila asked. Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back. She stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in the middle of the living room, I dunno.

Inside the package, Waldo quivered with excitement as he listened to the muffled voices. Sheila ran her fingernail over the masking tape that ran down the center of the carton. “Why don’t you look at the return address and see who it’s from?” Waldo felt his heart beating. He could feel the vibrating footsteps. It would be soon.

Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label. “Ah, god, it’s from Waldo!” “That schmuck, he doesnst even know how to fuck!” said Sheila. Waldo trembled with expectation. “Well, you might as well open it,” said Sheila. Both of them tried to lift the staple flap. “Ah shit,” said Marsha, groaning, “he must have nailed it shut”. They tugged on the flap again. “My God, you need a power drill to get this thing open!” They pulled again. “You can’t get a grip.” They both stood still, breathing heavily and for a brief moment their eyes met, Marsha imagined running her hands up Sheila’s plaid skirt, those soft thighs, that nice…

“Why don’t you get a scissor,” said Sheila. Marsha snapped out of her lesbian day dream and ran into the kitchen, but all she could find was a little sewing scissor. She remembered that her father kept a collection of tools in the basement. She ran downstairs, and when she came back up, she had a large sheet metal cutter in her hand. “This is the best I could find.” She was very out of breath. “Here, you do it. I-I’m gonna die, this Seconal and Placidyl is wiping me out.” She sank into a large fluffy couch, spreading her legs just enough for Sheila to sneak a peek. Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape and the end of the cardboard flap, but the blade was too big and there wasn’t enough room. “God damn this thing!” she said feeling very exasperated. Then smiling, “I got an idea.” “What?”said Marsha, hoping Sheila would rip her clothes off and than bury her head in between Marsha’s spread legs. “Just watch,” said Sheila, touching her finger to her head.

Inside the package, Waldo was so transfixed with excitement that he could barely breathe. His skin felt prickly from the heat, and he could feel his heart beating in his throat. It would be soon. Sheila stood quite upright and walked around to the other side of the package. Then she sank down to her knees like the good girl she was, grasped the cutter by both handles, took a deep breath, and plunged the long blade through the middle of the package, through the masking tape, through the cardboard, through the cushioning and (thud) right through the center of Waldo Jeffers head, which split slightly and caused little rhythmic arcs of red to pulsate gently in the morning sun.

???

Day after day I’m more confused
And I look for the light through the pouring rain
You know that’s a game that I hate to lose
And I’m feeling the strain
Ain’t it a shame

Oh, give me the beat, boys, and free my soul
I wanna get lost in your rock and roll
And drift away…

Strung-Out Suzie, turned blue on frigid winterized day.
The angels screams of Narcan went unanswered,
That cold Chicago morning, her spirit did stray.
Cry your way home, or lock yourself in the sun,
and get ready for some numbed out fun.

Stuck in the middle of mental madness.
drug addick, filled with sadness,
rigging up with Gatorade,
flat-line…
wasted time…
Finger printed checks,
fraud with no consequence,
the money is always there,
act like I never care.
Emotionally corrupt,
this years heroin run ended abrupt.
Fuct-up in your mind on a silver afternoon,
soul’s shaded dark as the bottom of a burnt spoon.

Evening thunderclouds backlit by the setting Sun.
Shafts of light pierce thru dark ominous cloud,
Distract my attention to somewhere I can feel proud,
where the beat slows down,
and my hands dont shake.
Needle blues,
free samples, here choose…
A nurse I nicknamed ‘vending machine’ said.
Her samples crushed and into the needle went the dust,
pulling back the plunger all I saw was red.
An ampul of oxymorphone you gotta get me, you just must

Down to Wilcox, with 50 in my hand,
stoned in some useless place,
looking for a good time, plenty of time to waste,
distracted by randoms images, abstract.
My memory jogs into uncharted territories,
life on the edge has left me feeling cracked.

The game of life, must you play to lose?
Who’s it going to be this month?
black ego’s stinking of booze,
You smell the stench?
Looks like I dug myself in a deep trench,
help me get out of this place,
far, far, away from this powder and base.
Just smoke the green,
I should have known,
now I am a god damn dope fiend.
Just leave me alone.

Cresented moon shining a sliver of light,
making me feel just about right,
pocket fulla beer…
handfulla reefer…
multiple mouthfull’s of pills…
and out to get my thrills.
Syringe barrel tinted blue,
who got into the Cookie jar of Morphine Sulfate, was it you?
30mg’s, instant release.
Please don’t call the police.
smeared eyeballs

Remember the flying eyeball ‘91 or ‘92 Grateful Dead tour shirts?
The Heroin man, [who coincidently drove a van] the tour rats would follow,
Nation wide, brains fried,
pills they would surely swallow.
Bindles, bundles, jabs, bricks, wraps, foils, packs, fingers, chunks.
A 100% mark up for those dirty punks,
strung out among the spinning space cadets.
No regrets.
Pssst…. opiates, heroin, smacK.

huh…?

Those who want it know what to look for,
finding its hardly a chore,
a drug that sells itself.
Once you open that opiate door,
elegant hell awaits yourself.
Where to begin, a subject I abhor yet still adore.

Visible rib cages (caged addict cries, while the caged bird flies).
Today is what happened when I was dreaming awake,
vivid rememberences of a far of land, some womens thighs, and perfect highs.
Look to the past or is that backward,
no future?

Bodies bleed, nobodies see’s.
Shaded views,
insane main-vein jabs that bring you to your knees.
A lifestyle that is pre-programed to lose.
Tanned skin and HI-heels,
closet pill heads and cock-tails,
Welcome to the land were nobody ‘feels’ and you always get killer deals,
martini glasses, straight in the bathroom stall, sniffing rails.
Do I enjoy this, no not at all.

Tubes and buttons,
personalities have been erased
the hospital door’s I faced
The old man with glazed eyeballs is in good spirits,
He told me how to live my life, did I listen?

Where are we going…
space lights shining like a bright parade,
stay in the stream of light while it is still flowing, its all-knowing,
brilliant minds of many shades,
looking for a cause, are you afraid?
Warning bells are ringing but I’m not listening.
Instead I stare in awe of the night sky, stars glistening
Just me and the stars, crisp is the air,
my body and mind need much repair,
my drug use has taken a massive toll,
May God have mercy on my soul.

What ever became of strung-out Suzie…?
She’s dead.

Please, please give me a ride….
need to go out one more time
crush this self-esteem
need to go out one more time
just to see what the day will bring
need to go out one more time
ease this pain like I do
need to go out one more time
after this I will be through
need to go out one more time
disappear without a trace
need to go out one more time
and hope no one takes my place
need to go out one more time
only so much I can bare
need to go out one more time
make sure I got my share
need to go out one more time
cause I havent had enough
need to go out one more time
cause the times they’ve gotten so rough

jj