Posts Tagged ‘wasted’

the-flame

 

Closing in

Fanged delusions cavort through consciousness

Viper-tongued ladies with dreams bursting fire

Wasted thoughts wending their way out from the id like fireflies out of a vortex

Stinking conceptions corruptly metastasizing all over the mind

Cancerous growth of fetid paranoia unto recurring patterns of depravity

All spiking and stabbing into possible happiness till I drown in pessimism

Closing in

Nuclear violence from North Korea lights up a possible earth

Crazy shit as usual from Trump blazing orange fury tweets

Accusers and haters surround me in a circle of derision

Closing in

Like a gigantic squeezing fist

Chaos and corruption from government cronies

Poverty encroaching everywhere virally

Neocon-Nut-jobs rattling racism like castanets

Closing in

Like gangrene up a limb by increments

 

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John Berryman

He made it all up
False malady – told with a poker face
Staying at home and watching TV
Counting the leather pelican winds
Making obstacles out of dust-motes
Letting his neurons short circuit

Grieving Henry was drunk
‘Wasted again’ Mr Bones
Spirit fades like a camera flash
Hope falls into the abyss
Life holds Henry in a fist
Squeezing out residual rebellion

Clench, clench, spit
Like orange juice
Or blood on sheets
At night when silence descends like mist
He remembers
How blessed are the dead

stonedcharlie

Overcome, she lowers her tear-soaked eyes
Her painful soul is in shadows
Her hooligan heart hurts as if wounded physically
‘You’re always fucked up on drugs’ she says
‘I don’t know who you are anymore’ she says
‘I’m me. Just chemically enhanced’
He replies with a grin
‘Well I’ve had enough of it’ she says
‘You’re never really there,
You’re always out of your head.
I don’t want to see you anymore.’
His words stumble like a creek over rocks
‘But I love you’ he says
‘I don’t love you’ she replies
‘You’re just another stoner freak’
An image full of feeling flashes on his mental screen of her naked and curled up against his body.
The swell of her buttocks against his loins
Gone all gone
He is day-dreaming of that feeling of safeness and synergy, not sex
She glares then turns on her heel and exits the room slamming the door behind her
A tear runs down his cheek.
But he can’t show her what he feels
He can’t show himself what he feels
So he hides his love away
And gets stoned

heroinspoon

Jack Mack loves his smack
Dream juice is his poison
Sinks into his wasted splendour
Like a warm inviting bath of angels’ tears
Seven times a day
Needle and spoon are his intimate friends
He’s fucked up every vein in his arms
And every one in his legs
He’d even fucked up the one in his cock
So he shoots up in the jugular vein in his neck
His blood is corrupted by Hepatitis C and his liver slowly rots
And every day is catalyzed by the alchemy of need
To take a break from hanging out, he sometimes smokes some weed
And benzos, codeine cough mixture, anything just to take the edge off pain
Of hanging out for opiates- nothing else matters
His habit is huge- a monk in the order of our Lady Perpetual Decadence
Track marks crucify him on every single vein
He’ll shoot up anything called dope then he’ll shoot again
His whole personality reduced to machinery to score
So he’ll keep on shooting skag, always wanting more.

chemists-own-pain-tabsules_4d717f829df4c

I take twenty Chemist’s Own strong pain tablets containing paracetamol and codeine
Dissolve in 40 ml of warm water, mix up with a spoon
The tablets melt into the water easily
Leaving a white mixture like milk
Let the mixture cool to room temperature
Then cool in the fridge for five minutes
Mix with a spoon and pour into a coffee filter on a glass
Wait till all the mixture is filtered
Drops of clear liquid from the filter stop
Throw away the filter and the white gunk
Drink the clear liquid – it’s bitter
Within in five minutes a warm feeling suffuses up my limbs and into my brain
Blessed apathy-nothing can hurt me
I just don’t care anymore
I have no anxiety
A wonderful internal hug almost as good as a real hug
Almost as good as a shot of smack
Feel so warm and heavy and cuddly
Not bad for eight bucks

The Smack Poem

Posted: February 6, 2015 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

heroin
Let’s get on
We’re gonna do some downtown
Because we have money and rebellious tendencies
And we have the right contacts
First I give my money to the guy
Then there’s always the waiting
Time slows as if stuck in molasses
Then it’s here in a little paper package
We go thirds in a hundred bucks worth
My mate mixes up in a spoon
With water from a boiled kettle
We have swabs, clean fits, even a tourniquet
All the fits are made up
He can’t find a vein in my hand
I look over to my left inner arm and see one
Faint blue snaking down towards my hand
Embedded in my pale flesh
My mate inserts the 1 ml insulin syringe down to the plastic collar in my vein
He pulls back on the stopper and a bead of dark red blood appears at the top of the smack solution
A perfect hit, first time for that vein
He pushes the stopper in,
Halfway down, he asks if it hurts
I say no
He pushes it in all the way
Gnarly narcotics are hurtling through my blood and into my rapscallion brain
A gorgeous warm numbness permeates my consciousness and my body feels soft, profound and infinitely heavy all at the same time
It comes on slowly
In a couple of minutes, anxiety, pain and paranoia have left me
I am in a perfect physiological state far superior to normal
This is the ultimate hangover cure
Just like Iggy Pop
Just like Kurt Cobain
Just like William Burroughs
Just like Lou Reed
I’m a citizen of a sacred dope kingdom
I’m a poppy-powered Dionysius
I suck the sap of the sweet somnolent flower
I’m curled up and comforted in a chemical bubble
A beloved son of a hedonistic god and blessed with holy analgesia
Pupils pinned to points in an expansive smack space with a subversive geometry
A heroin Houdini as I again dodge the habit the pigs and the politicians say I’m supposed to have by now
Like many other people who know how to use and not abuse
‘You’ve got to watch your quantities,’ as Keith Richards said
Just for six hours I lurk in a heavenly hagiography of hopped-up heroes and soft mellow feelings
Valhalla for the chemically impaired
Enlightened and emerging from my introvert shell
So free of fear that I cross over into confidence and charm
Enjoying the companionship of my fellow wastoids
Kurt always said he felt more sociable after a shot
Social anxiety dissolves in opioids
The ultimate answer
To almost any problem
Is thirty three bucks worth of skag
Coming soon to a dealer near you