Drugs of such

Drugs of such

 

I feel you

Fervently

Racing through my arm.

You wondrous

Money sucking monster.

 

Everything I have

Everything I make

Goes on to you.

To new needles

Fresh injections

Fresh…

My money is

Lost

Wasted

Pissed away

Gone.

Spent on you

And worth every drop.

 

When he says

I drink too much

But he has no idea

That I don’t drink enough.

Now that

He gives me a choice

Between my family

And you.

 

My choice of

Which street corner

I want

To run to.

nothings changed

nothings changed

 

nothings changed

in

bitter

self loathing

significant other

despising

fight picking

monster

that they always

called you

 

nothings changed

when you still

want to pick fights

still want to

nit

pick

still want

to

 

i’m addicted

 

to

fight.

The Last Nice Thing

The Last Nice Thing

 

If you don’t stay

I’ll –

kill myself.

overdose.

You’ll have pushed me

off the edge.

It’ll be your fault

if you don’t

stay.

 

So this will be

the last nice thing

I ever do for you.

 

“Hey… this is his –

now ex

I guess.

I’m not expecting anything

[since you’ll probably take his side]

but he did threaten,

to go off the deep end.”

 

“I’d hate to see him do that to himself”

“So don’t let him”

“Okay?”

My name is

My name is

My name is

And I don’t understand why

we’re hugging

Why

we’re in a circle.

Why

we’re here.

 

My name is

And I don’t know you.

Or you.

My name is

And I don’t understand why they didn’t show up again.

My name is

And I’m bored.

Tired.

Hungry.

Walking in with McDonalds in my hand.

My name is…

And we’re late again.

 

I can’t talk to my friends.

I can’t play in the rooms here.

My name is

And I know the serenity prayer.

My name is

And I

grew up

here…

 

My name is

As I stick my right foot in

Arms wrapped, holding other people tight.

My name is

And this is how I spend my Friday night.

 

My name is

And I’m fourteen.

Watching a whole room of two hundred people get clean.

 

My name is

And I have a little sister

By the age of 12.

Her name is

And we stare from the table at the “12 Step” books on the shelf.

 

Our names are

And we grew up in the collective of NA.

Narcotics Anonymous

In rooms that would

Remember our names.

Enzymes 1 Through 3

Enzymes 1 Through 3

Alcohol dehydrogenase

you hide your face.

Acetaldehyde

alcoholism comes from the inside.

Acetaldehyde dehydrogenase

with a whole life to deface.

Glutathione

but this is your last one.

 

Enzyme number one

and the cap comes undone.

Enzyme number two

your blood becomes an alcoholic stew.

The result argues to me,   that

it was fresh-brewed you see.

Enzyme number three, supplied in short

and you’re passed out on the floor.

 

Alcohol dehydrogenase

to breakdown drink once you’ve had your taste.

Acetaldehyde

toxic ethanol still to be modified.

Acetaldehyde dehydrogenase

are attracted in a haste.

Gutathione

to assist number three in this last reaction phase.

 

Enzyme number one

and again you have to do a grocery run.

Enzyme number two

with bottles hidden under pillows just for you.

The result can hardly see,   that

addiction gets quite weighty,   when

Enzyme number three, supplied in short

has you passed out on the floor.

Being Serious

Being Serious

I don’t remember the point at which I stopped being serious.

But I know I did stop.

Wrapping my ideas for life around this one boy,

a boy who wasn’t even a man.

Getting high around the clock was his plan.

 

I debated and contemplated, depending on us,

but his plan was thus:

too different, too self-centered.

He was no longer taking part in the life we had entered.

 

I was lonely.

I was tired.

I was angry.

And I was defeated.

All my morals had been drained and cheated.

 

He was that guy in the halls,

listening and taking part in the lewd cat-calls.

Friends with everyone and strutting as if he were the priest,

High and Mighty, popularity consumed him while everything else had ceased.

 

“I can feel it, I’m going to be big this year.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll bring you with me.”

I thought of him as if he were a living hyperbole.

 

I was left behind, outdated.

the one in the halls that felt understated.

Underfoot and overlooked in his shadow.

Writing escaping into Voyager was my loaded crossbow.

 

And in the end it was movies and movies and not much else.

I was barely in the mood to see him

when his demand for sex became a threat of its own.

His clouded mind truly was sitting upon a throne.

 

He called me scared, he called me a bitch.

He told me “I hope you suffer in your next relationship like I did!”

while I met with fury for not giving it up.

Then he asked for me to take him back like I might turn and say “yup”.

 

There were days of begging and days of serenades, one last chance with his love to “show”.

Yet I said no.

“You should have known the stakes,”

taking me for granted with broken promises is not what it takes.

 

And still I don’t remember the point at which I stopped being serious.

But I know I did stop.

All thanks to my morals being drained and cheated.

And now I’m done being the one who is mistreated.