It sits upon me

It sits upon me, and I know not why, I am hot and pointed to sky, not really pointed, because I am flat, It is a perch in that way and only that.

I am quite hot, and think that I

May be frying bird, sitting on my eye, I am as sharp with light as a

Needle

Rushing with

Speedle, glowing with chaotic rejection of night, glowing with light, glowing with glow, I am going in the act of gooooooo slow… to the sky, raising I’s up hiiiiiiiigh. I am so very………high.

I am……very toxic………….. aren’t I?

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I am sorry for the lack of clarity.

Baby please, get off your feet, and meet me on the ground.

Come back down, and hear the resounding sound of quiet.

You are daylight’s riot.

I wish only for quiet.

You are my fire fly. You are sunlight’s spy, a flashlight in the comfort of night sky. Hanging lights up so you can see, every bit of nature’s landscape clear to you, the lover of blue sky and morning dew.

Nothing of night pleasant or in view, you seek to chase away the dark vacantness, that is my permanent vacation nest. In everything you strive to erase or chase away, is every place I desire to stay.

****

I am begging you to please, bring me to my knees.

Standing is so tiring, I am so sick of bitter firing, it makes me very sick, consumed by my own tomb, even though I have not done it for many a moon, I am transfixed with the past, with drugs that didn’t last, they keep my eyes on sky, under which I did not die.

In my heart and sole, I am dead, because I threw those shoes out a long time ago.

I miss you, so much, so much, so much, my heart is full of rust, and dust, oh angel of must, trust, anything else, anything else, enough to stop, writing love poems to heroin, meth, and alcohol.

I am staring at an image, but staring at you.

You burned my soul, paper thin, wore it out, oh heroin(e)

I am writing to you, but also writing to that, because I never love anyone else first, not even my cat. I worship a goddess, who is made by spoon fire, who is fed with cotton, and sown with desire, I worship you, baby, but really do not, my love for something else is always too hot, it is lit by a candle, a lighter, a match, it is burned till its ready, hope death don’t I catch, I speak of the past here, because I no longer have, enough veins left to do heroin.

I hate myself, I am an anthem to a bottle and a needle and spoon on dusty shelf, I am all that everyone should never aspire to be,

To see clearly, is not in my power to do, I am forever blinded, by the beauty of you.

The fire of firing fire

The fire of addict’s desire

I light my own funeral pyre

I am done, done, done

Unspun, undun.

So done.

This is all reflection

On a life retossed

I was blind, my whole life, I was blind lived in self-inflicted strife. I was blind. I was blind. I had no eyes, couldn’t see, I had eyes but they were blacked out, they were blurry, couldn’t see. I was blind couldn’t see. Clearly.

I walked through life, walking slow, walking fast, running away, running to, running from, running with, running, runnning, on nothing, no road, no path, nothing, nothing, nothing.

I was nothing. I was nothing.

I was nothing. I was nothing.

I was with him, I was with you.

I was ran. I was running.

On nothing, with someone who was me, who is me.

I ran to things, towards things, and for things.

Just elation, addicted to derived sensation. Nothing more, nothing less, no crime, just desire to injest.

In jest.

I see no end, to your voice, see no end to no choice,

I hear you in my head, over and over,

Saying things you said, that I ignored, shut you out.

I would at the time rather have lived without

Hearing that you hated me, wished me to know with impunity, but now I wonder, and I fear,

Whether you were right and so my dear,

I am so sorry for shutting out

All words you said, because I live in doubt, had I listened, had I changed, would I still be in such pain??

Would we both be better now? If I stopped using then, had put it down, if I had agreed, done what you said, would I still be alone and dead inside

I am right now. I wish I had something not life without.

I was stupid. I was wrong, and now I wish I just had gone

Along with anything you did or said and maybe I would not wish I was dead.

She was on a box of graham crackers, a new box, that came out I don’t know when, and I don’t want to know, ever.

Probably… never happened anyway, because it has already been established

I am

INSANE

A person with invalid

Opinion.

Lidded for the safety of all those who do not like to hear me.

I am sealed in toxic glass prison of constant self reflection, reflecting my poison, only at myself.

Caustic bitter alcoholic, encased in a bottle of alcohol, drowning like a elephant in the room, or a allusion to Dumbo,

Dumb ***.

Or just an addict thinking about things that will hurt me in the morning because **** me.

I am so ugh….. I don’t even know… I embarrass myself constantly, this is so hard. I am constantly anxious, I can’t sleep that much, and then other times I feel like I am on top of the world. I guess this is why I used to sedate myself, because I sound like a lunatic, and it is really freaking embarrassing. I just can’t put this nowhere, so I feel like here is better than out loud, because then at least, I don’t have to hear myself. I just want to know what it feels like to feel normal. I have never felt that way in my whole life. I am so done with all of this, but it is not out of my system, because I am still so **** insecure, it is embarrassing.

I wish I could just shut my brain off sometimes. I can’t even do that when I sleep, and I am nervous because I don’t want to do this to myself ever again, but I don’t know how to feel without this intensity. I don’t feel without the extremes. I wish I could be one of those “let it go” people, but I am not. I am just not, and I can’t keep lying because I know I will just drink or get high if I do that, I see that now… and I ****ing hate how the drugs and booze made me feel at the end. I hate who they made me be, I hate what addiction did to my life. I am trying to move on, but this is so hard, and the longest I have ever been clean and sober since I was 18. I am 35.

17 years. Of this.. on and off.

I am so done. At the very least I have that, never again. I don’t want to drink/get high ever again.

Damien/Amanda

I was friends with a man who lived in a motel in a state that’s name does not matter, that I met at a place called The Wall. We called the man the horse, because he ran fast. The whole thing was pretty elaborate but basically was you being led around from place to place while they got you high on other things to distract you and to throw off anyone watching the place this occurred. One of the places they would lead you to was a place called The Wall, it was literally just a wall in the middle of nowhere on an abandoned building.

Sometimes it took 5 hours, and you would stand staring at the wall, get the name choice? You would stand there afraid to miss the great pumpkin. I brought a marker once and wrote “The writing” all over the wall, and they beat the **** out of me, and asked what I was thinking, so I replied..

“Isn’t it obvious??? The writing is on the wall!”

What I was really thinking.. was that **** better come back with all my **** because I was going to beat the **** out of him if he came back with nothing like last time, and he already owed me for two times before that.

_____________________________________________________________________

I am sick of myself. End toxic memory.
________________________________________________________________________

Feel better now.

Peace.

In a fog of vapor, an addict puts pen to..

An addict lies about nothing to make things rhyme while wasting time

Spinning rhymes to distract themselves… have you heard there are two of me?

Clearly.

___________________________________________________________________________

I am sitting alone in silence, wondering what it is that makes me have random moments of I am going to fall off a cliff, what shifted, what did I miss?

The shot…

No not that, that is done, and you are

SPUN

You are no fun.

Neither are you not anymore…

Whore.

Ow..

Did I hurt you?

No, you were talking to yourself again.

_____________________________________________

Sometimes, I get sunburn so bad it is on the inside of my soul.

Hole.

Whole.

Consume Hole Whole Soul

Erase Transmission?

End of mission?

Mission to what?

To shut you the **** up.

TRIGGER WARNING: About sex workers or prostitution, and revelation of moments of clarity, mentions drug use and is very graphic do not read if you can’t handle this. I am writing for my own recovery, and to cleanse my own mind and soul.

You were the last man to touch me for free, and now they will never touch me again, because I realize, I charged with the charge of a heart scarred by being untrue to me. I did not want to be with any of you at all. I was not that kind of… person. I charged for the scars to my arms, to my soul, to the eternal burning hole in everything that it is to be me, and give things heroically in falsehood because what I was really doing was buying letters carved in human skin that told stories of heroic-ness, but what I was really doing was sleeping with people for free drugs… nothing more nothing less.

We search your basement hideout for your **** which you already did, I know because we did it together, but you don’t remember this, because we were together for a second, being together in love with each other for the brief second that rocks are thrown on table,

Rock, paper scissor

Scissor, I cut you out of my life, toxic friend, and all men, that make me exchange sex for bitter rocks, cast at my soul.

I like women better anyway.

I always think of you today, and want to drink because I used to drink today

Because honestly, I used to ****ing drink everyday, because I am an alcoholic, But that dig at my pride is unnecessary, just trying to be more honest, so no one stabs me in the back… which is funny because I am the master of vicious drunk attack, which is why I have no ****ing friends.

They aren’t dead like yours, they won, they are still having fun doing what I can’t because I came undone, and now my life is devoted to becoming un-spun, so I guess I won? But, sometimes it’s not ****ing fun, and I feel like I am done… I just want to… that’s a lie….

STUPID ***HOLE, what do you want to do die?

No, I want to poke out both of my eyes. Or stab myself in the

Back? Front? Chest?

What like your favorite artist?

What a conquest.

****
You