ropiateswriters•Posted by uKrisleigh81How it all b.docx

r/opiateswriters•Posted by
u/Krisleigh81How it all began
I remember my mama trying to make me feel better. I didn't
though. I began to hate myself on that day. I was traumatized
and felt like maybe Daddy would stop doing this shit if I was a
better princess. I know it sounds stupid. I was three.Polluted
It has been 5 days since I took a shower, or changed my clothes.
My teeth are rotting away, and so is my body. I haven’t eaten
anything in the past two days except for 5 packs of skittles. The
green ones. The doctor said that they’re not good for my tonsils
but I chew on them anyway.
Using the only money I have left, I buy a pack of cigarettes.
Camel 8 mgs. The highest level of nicotine you can find in
Korea.
I light a fag and contemplate asking Dianne for money. Dianne
is a language student at Chung-Ann University, and also a part-
time sex-worker. Woefully, the only person I know in the world
who wouldn’t give me hell for my self-destructive habits.
That’s the thing I admire about her. She doesn’t judge, preach
or care to tell me to mend my ways.
“Where are you?,” I call her up.
“What happened?”
“I need $150, I don’t have any money.”
She hangs up.
Fuck.
I light another fag, and stare at the sky. There are no stars. Only
a blanket of city pollution. How lovely would it be if you could
get high on air pollution. Maybe I’d move to Kanpur then, WHO
says it is the most polluted city in the world.
Last Time
Romancing the good times
With smoke in our eyes
When love was a sand dune
And sirens were lullabies

We burn our feet on buried embers
Tourniquets and shattered glass
And lie this time will be the last.
Day After Fucking Day
I feel like a wind-up soldier. Turn the key and I'll march. I can
feel every single gear turning in my body.
Wake up. Stay in bed for three hours. Finally check the mailbox
wearing the same pajamas I've had on for the last two days.
Three bills and two science fiction books. Back inside, quickly.
Order food. Kills my wallet but fuck dicking around and
choosing food for an hour. Lay on couch. Watch TV until I hear
a knock on the door. Back on the couch.
It's fucking disgusting. I have six instruments in the other room
collecting dust. I have a jar of pre-workout that I've only
opened once. My longboard hangs in the closet, haven't used it
since college. The book I've been writing hasn't progressed in
months. This couch can't complain though...
Is this depression or laziness? I'm notorious for both, though I
wonder if they're one in the same.
I don't know a single person in the state I'm living in. No human
interaction whatsoever. I blame that on my job, driving around
for countless hours in that shitty van all over the country. Pays
well, get some cool stories, cool sights. It just takes up all my
time. It'll be a year in December. Not speaking to anyone save
for myself and the few phone calls I have with family and my
boss. I don't trust anyone around me because I don't know them.
I don't leave the apartment without my knife.
I can't even blame pills this time around. I haven't used since
April. I hardly even smoke pot anymore, makes me too anxious
these days. I haven't touched Jameson in probably 2.5 months,
just been drinking beer. It's fucking hard to get drunk off of
beer. If you don't drink fast enough you get a headache. If you
pound 12 in 30 minutes you feel bloated and disgusting.
I'm so fed up with living that I won't even put in the effort to
get fucked up. That's terrifying to me.
So here I lay in bed just knowing how today is going to go.

Turn the key and I'll march.
Fishing
The Lake is quiet and serene, like a Bob Ross painting. The
trees grow tall reaching for the sky from the banks, birds of
prey sit on the high branches waiting for an unsuspecting
victim.
I have paddled my way to a distant finger, far from the jet skis
and boats. No one will disturb me here.
Without a soul in sight I decide to pull out my kit. A small
Tupperware, a bottle of water, a bag of dope, and a needle.
"Just the bare necessities, the simple bare necessities…" I hum
to myself, dumping the powder form the bag to the Tupperware.
I add water and stir the murky mixture into a thin goo.
"Fuck, I forgot the cotton" I always forget the cotton. Instead I
tear off a small bit of filter out of my cigarette and add it in.
I insert the tip of the needle and pull back the plunger. Sucking
in the vile mixture it mimics the brown lake water, minus all the
bugs. But who knows what really was in that bag anyway.
I pour more water in the Tupperware and drink down the cotton
and leftover murkiness. It tastes like vinegar. "Hmm maybe this
shot will be good."
I tie off with the rope from my kayak and go for the easiest
spot, the good old AC. The kayak rocks gently in the water but,
I'm a pro. I guide the needle in and push the plunger down as I
release the rope to drift off behind me.
Immediately my body relaxes. I taste the sickly sweet vinegar in
the back of my throat, as my head rolls back to stare at the sky.
"What a beautiful day"
The sky is blue, dotted with clouds, like it always is in the
south. I stay there limp in my kayak until a sudden "bloop" jars
me back to reality.
Just a fish catching his prey, like I will soon be doing.
Getting out my rod, I bait a worm and cast toward a distant
point.
I watch my bobber float on the surface like I float in the vast
opiate ocean.

I take my eyes off the bobber to admire the beauty of the lake.
The water mirrors the trees and the sky in their beauty, but I am
scared to look in to see my own reflection. Does the lake know
the truth?
Would it reflect the mask I wear to work and Sunday brunches?
Or would it show the real me? The beast, forever hungry,
always wanting more and more until one day it will consume
myself.
I shake the thought off as my bobber disappears. Yanking back
on the line I feel the pull of the fish, fighting for his life. He
puts up a good fight as I reel him in.
A ten inch Bass dangles in front of me, not a bad catch. He
swallowed the hook all the way down past his gills, pulling it
out might kill him. So I snip the line and let him go back to be
fooled again by some other fisherman.
I light a cigarette, Southern cut of course,and think to myself.
I can't believe he fell for that, the hook was still exposed. But I
guess that's the way it goes. No matter the obvious danger or
risk he will always go for an easy meal and I will always go for
another shot. Even though just like the fish, I might not survive
the next one.Chasing a Feeling
They say I'm chasing some feeling that I felt a long time ago.
Maybe I am. The feeling of almost 12 years ago, when I was 15,
sneaking into my mom's medicine cabinet, googling the names
of her prescriptions to see if they could get me high. A vast
treasure surprised me complete with oxycodone, hydrocodone,
hydromorphone, codeine and tramadol. The pills had long
expired, making it easier to rationalize my thievery. Luckily for
me, the expiration meant little in terms of potency.
What I remember is innocence-- snorting 20 mg of oxycodone
and playing Mario Kart Wii at my friend Sleck's house. At this
precise moment, I declared independence from the human
condition itself. Freed from pain, I floated in a sky painted like
that in the game with dark blue pastels and perfect, uniform,
bright and shiny stars. If I had to pick any moment to spend

eternity in, I thought, this is surely a contender.
This is the moment I was chasing, they tell me. Because,
according to the doctrine, tolerance lasts forever and it will
never feel as good as it did the first time. And I wonder if this
is true in other areas of life and if it explains any other of my
actions. For example, love. Is every new romantic interest
simply an attempt to fill the void left by my first love-- that
skinny, little butterface I lost my virginity to in high school?
You only get to lose your virginity once. Never again will sex
have so much innocence, so much meaning, so much validation
that yes, I too am a lovable member of the human race
deserving of affection and happiness. That I have the power to
make other people high.
But, of course, that relationship failed. It turned out we were
totally different people-- incompatibly so. It turned out it had
really just been about the sex all along. And as much as I
romanticize it, my first time wasn't even that great when I really
think about it. I got nervous and took a bunch of Adderall,
leaving me unable to even come. Was I chasing the first time?
Or running from it? Maybe the feeling I'd been chasing was
never real. Maybe it only ever existed in my imagination.
Maybe the void I've always tried to fill wasn't left by any drug
or woman. Maybe the void was just… well, me.
The Lake
"Do you want fentanyl or morphine?" He was asked, while
strapped down in the back of an ambulance.
"Morphine." Came his answer, trying not to sound too excited.
The ambulance came to get J after going to urgent care for
severe neck pain.
The day had started out on the lake, fishing in the murky waters
of the lake with 10 fingers.
There was not a care in the world for J on this fateful day until
he and his friend Carson saw a sheet of rain headed their way.
But they didn't care, they were high off resin hits, Kratom, and
a couple of beers. They were afloat above their bodies basking

in the great ocean of bliss.
"Should we head back?" Asked Carson, casting his line into the
water.
"Yeah probably but let's have a few more casts" J replied,
reeling in his line to cast it again.
It had begun to rain and the water had grown choppy, as they
packed up to leave a few minutes later. The wind was blowing
toward the docks as they boarded their kayaks.
"Ready for a ride?" Asked J with a boyish grin on his face,
setting off.
"We'll see…" said Carson tentatively.
As they paddled J began to drift, caught in a slipstream, like a
fish caught in a net. He tried paddling as hard as he could to get
out of it, but it wouldn't let him go.
They waves get larger and the wind grew stronger and J knew
he was in a fight for his life.
"Whooosh" came a wave that broadsided J and flipped him and
his kayak.
"Oh shit" thought Jason as he came up gasping for air.
The kayak was nowhere in sight, nor his life jacket or any other
floatation device.
He twisted around and to his relief, he saw the kayak upside
down but still floating. Reaching for it his fingers finally caught
the grip.
He hung on for dear life as he tried to stay afloat, breathing as
much water as air.
Meanwhile Carson waved his oar and shouted for help but it
was to no avail. Everyone smart had stayed on the shore or
outrank the storm.
"Fuck! Fuck! J!!!!" He yelled, but no answering call returned
Carson paddled with all his might to get to J. When he finally
reached him J was spewing water holding on for dear life.
"I lost the tackle box" yelled J.
"Fuck the tackle box" Carson said pleading that his friend
would survive the storm.
Together they tried to flip the kayak, J had managed to find

purchase and dragged himself on to it upside down.
They drug themselves to shore after an hour of intense storm
riding, to finally reach safety.
"Fucking eh man, I thought you were gonna be a statistic" said
Carson.
"Yeah me too, I can't believe we made it" replied J, coughing up
a lungful of water.
"Let's get you to a doctor"
"Yeah probably a good idea. I kept getting hit with the kayak"
said J, as he vomited up lakewater.
At the urgent care the doctor poked and prodded J while he told
them where it hurt.
"You might have a cervical spine fracture, I've called an
ambulance to take you to the ER." Concluded the doctor,
putting a neck brace on J like a dog at a vet.
"I'll give you ten milligrams now but I can go as high as twenty
if need be" said an older EMT.
As soon as the plunger went down J could taste the
pharmaceutical grade god. It tricked through his body like
maple syrup on waffles. Still though J grit his teeth, he wanted
all twenty of those available milligrams of bliss.
After ten minutes the EMT administered another ten milligrams,
maxing out his ambulance limit.
"Oh yes, this is good. No, better than good, this is nirvana." He
thought to himself as he radiated warmth and floated in the
opiate ocean.
The hospital diagnosed J with a clean bill of health, for
someone who almost drowned, and J left with his wife and a
bottle of 9 Roxicodone 5mg tablets.LOVER
this isn't her. this isn't real.
this isn't her. this isn't real.
i don't know her; only fear.
i don't recognize her; only from the rear
she was once my friend, my dear
now i lie splattered in her rearview

mirror, wont even look at me, i'm unclean
i'm selfish, i'm mean, at times a bit obscene
i'm just a 17yr old scene kid, razor to my wrist
"hope nobody sees him, or his scars
all his skanks from the bars
the bullshit trip to Mars..."
ooh... wait! let me pull the sword out,
before it scars. in the small of my back
just as i turn around,
my LOVER, there you are!
Can’t Stop Thinking About it
There ain't enough dopamine in my brain, to keep me goin in
this thing I call the opiate game. Well then I guess it's just- so
be it mayne, I'll be without it til my soul flown outta my grave.
My buddy passed last week, I never-
Remember when i switched to dope, thinking that it was cheap,
Then paid the highest price, wit my life, when i OD’d. You
never think about it. Nothing's cheap, when you're always
thinkin about it.. It's got a bounty on yo head, when you thinkin
about it..
Went to his wake, seen his face, bowed my head... now i can't
stop thinking about it. shit.... My friend dead.. I can't stop
thinking about it..
Pullin lyrics from the sky, pull a tissue, dry my eyes,
Proccessing the lies, Preparing my demise Head to the sky,
clouds pass, still I can't stop thinking about it...
Looking for an outlet- the “sweet escape.” I think he finally
found it. God bless his soul, bless his mothers heart, that the
devil stole. Rest of her days she'll live forever broke. Hope you
never know the pain, the struggle, livin wit the dope. Conditions
of the game, just to see another day, we won't ever know. but
still.. I can’t stop thinking about it..
It’s been a year... and I can't stop thinking about it
The Three
There were three of us, Adin, Brooke, and I. Adin loved weed,
Brooke liked weed and alcohol. But me, well I loved it all.

We lived in a small two bedroom townhouse that reflected our
lifestyle.
The bedrooms were dirty and cluttered. Mirrors for makeup lay
dusted with powder.
The porch was cluttered with a couch, a shopping cart, and more
blunt roaches and cigarettes butts than I can count.
The closet under the stairs Adin and I hotboxed it so many
times, the walls were almost green.
In the kitchen I had my homemade chemistry set. I made
everything from opium, ephedra extract, and even mescaline in
that kitchen.
Though our home was bare bones it was our home. Party’s,
trips, rolls, everything happened in that house. We loved the
place.
After work I sat outside on the “smoking sofa” puffing away at
a splif, lounging in the opiate ocean.
This was my heaven, I had raided my stash of Oxy, Tramadol,
and Xannax, and was lost to the waves of euphoria. That was
until Brooke came home.
Brooke had a very unique ritual she performed after coming
home from work. It began as soon as the door slammed behind
her after getting of from her waitress job.
“Babe! Babe! You wouldn't believe the rush today…” She
would start in about her day.
I, like the thoughtful boyfriend I was, would sit up and pretend
to listen to her day.
After she finished talking it was always time for a scalding hot
and hour long shower.
“Hey roll one for us when I get out” were always her parting
words.
At five it was Adins turn to return home, and try to disrupt my
obvious opiate glow.
“What's up bitch?” he would say, pulling his motorcycle into
our living room, disrupting my losing match of online Black
Ops.
“What's the deal dude?”

“A $90 quarter is the deal” he responded, holding up a bag of
green bud.
“Come on its hotbox time!” gesturing to the half burnt bubbler
on the coffee table, and walking to the stairs.
Brooke was still upstairs so I followed diligently.
After three bowls we played with our flashlights in the thick
smoke, making lightsaber noises, until we emerged.
Brooke was always on the couch, playing Starcraft. Waiting to
make the obvious joke about coming out of the closet.
Afternoon turned to evening as my pre-rolled blunt was shared
and the munchies descended upon us.
After one more line of Oxy and Xannax for me and a quick run
to Taco Bell our hungers were filled. The beer began to flow
and night engulfed our home.
Adin always went upstairs first and shortly thereafter Brooke
and I would follow.
Just another day on the calendar for us.
Trust
I trusted you.
Even with all the heartache I have been through, and the many
times I believed unrequited love to be true.
My fragile self esteem shattered and the tears I have cried. I
was running on empty, nothing left to give, even as much as I
tried.
I swore to make more of an effort to see signs early on.
Determined to spot narcissists wanting to play me like a pawn.
I didn't want to be vulnerable as I was in the past. With renewed
conviction to hang onto my heart and avoid moving too fast.
Then i met you. Your charm mesmerized me and your intentions
seemed pure. Like some voodoo love doctor with a magical
cure.
I built a wall around myself that I worked so hard to maintain.
Only to find being away from you was something I couldn't
sustain.
The sweet words you whispered seemed so sincere. I fell into
bliss and needed you near.

I trusted you.
I buried my fears, and gave you all that remained of my delicate
heart. With a leap of faith I decided to let all my defenses fall
apart.
You worked so hard to convince me that you were my one and
only. That you couldn’t live without me and would never leave
me lonely.
I trusted you.
Then you changed.
Like a predator who finally conquered their prey. The love you
once proclaimed for me, now replaced by the constant lies you
would tell me everyday.
You managed to convince me you weren't like the others, but
could no longer hide behind your mask. The reality is
manipulation and cheating have now become your main task.
The scars that slowly healed are now all torn open. My soul
feels the gaping wounds of merely becoming your token.
Melancholy thoughts of a future with you melt like an oil
painting on fire.
And to think how I believed our love was something to cherish
and desire.
A little too late, I realized my mistake..
I trusted you.
Primal Instinct
The cold night air bit into her cheeks as she helplessly stood
next to her car. She had taken an unfamiliar exit as smoke was
billowing from under the hood.
She swore under her breath for taking a chance driving with the
“check engine” light on for weeks now. With the recent move to
her new job out of state, her priority had been to finish
unpacking and to get settled in.
Her frustration grew as she looked down at the cell phone she
neglected to charge before she left work. Almost in tears, she
kicked her tire before she started walking.
She looked around the desolate road where she could see dark
menacing trees and her breath outlined in the coldness.

As she walked she came upon a lonely street light with moths
dancing carefree under it oblivious to her plight.
Aside from the crunching of gravel under her shoes, the silence
was deafening. She felt tiny eyes peering at her from the deep
forest next to the road and for the first time, she felt a gut
wrenching fear.
Hopefully, she would come upon a gas station or store where
she could call for help.
As she walked along in the darkness, she heard a car motor
behind in the distance. Within minutes a car pulled up beside
her.
“Hey there… is that your car back there? Do you need a ride?”
He asked her through the passenger’s side window that was
down.
With a mixture of relief and uncertainty, she looked into the car
at the young man behind the wheel who was clean shaven and
wore glasses. There was nothing distinctive about him – just a
regular guy.
Before responding, she noticed empty pop cans and used
kleenex amongst clothing items in the back seat of the man’s
car. There was a plastic bobble head lady on his dashboard that
was finishing her hula dance as he came to a stop.
Noticing her hesitation, the man tried to reassure her by saying
he could take her to the gas station a mile or so down the road.
She weighed her options. Should she keep walking in the night,
go back to her car and wait for daylight, or trust the young man
offering help? He seemed like a nice guy but she was often
warned by her parents not to trust strangers.
In a split second, she went against her primal instinct and got
into his car.
As they drove he made casual conversation but her mind was
more on who to call once they reached the gas station. She
looked up at the full moon and then noticed an uncomfortable
silence.
She turned to look at the man. He was staring at her intensely,
barely looking at the dark road in front of them. She quickly

turned away to avoid his eyes as he drove by the dark gas
station which was closed.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up as she heard the
“click” of the car doors locking.
The quiet darkness was disturbed by birds fleeing out of
moonlit trees as a scream penetrated into the night.
GLORY DAYS
I see her sitting at the table across from me. Lifting the martini
glass to her red lips, I noticed the tiny age spots on her hand.
I became fixated on her for some reason. I noticed her pointy
red nails. Her dark blue dress had a plunging neckline revealing
a spray tanned cleavage with deep lines in between her breasts.
She wore three inch patent leather heels with black stockings
and her hair was feathered and dyed honey blonde. She had
black eyeliner and dark eyebrows that stood out as if they were
shouting.
My gaze turns towards my friends, who are busy talking and
drinking. Some are on the floor dancing while the colorful neon
lights rythmically move in sync with the music.
I watch them throwing their hands in the air and laughing,
unaware they are living a moment in time that they will
nostalgically remember to be magical and carefree.
All are too busy partying to notice the lady across from our
table still sitting by herself.
She took a large gulp of her martini and asked a young man
passing by a question as she pointed to the dance floor. He
looked a bit confused and shook his head as he walked away
mumbling to himself. Embarassed, the lady took another sip and
stared down into her drink.
I couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking. What brought
her here tonight in her painfully outdated outfit and Charlie’s
Angels hairstyle? There was an aura of desperation about her.
I imagined what she was like 20 years ago. Looking through her
overdone makeup I could see a woman who was once quite
beautiful. A woman who, I imagine, during her glory days had

the attention of many men and would have had her pick of
someone to dance with. I saw a big diamond ring on one of her
skinny fingers but it was not a wedding ring.
Suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the man who the
older woman spoke to earlier. He asked me if I wanted to dance.
One of my favorite songs was playing so I took his hand and
followed him towards the dance floor.
As I passed by the woman’s table she looked at me with an
awkward somber expression.
After seeing the sadness in her eyes I no longer felt like
dancing. The expression on her face made me stop and let go of
the man’s hand. He looked surprised as I walked away with no
explanation but quickly replaced me with another woman
standing close by.
A tear drop rolling down her cheek shimmered in the neon light
as I sat next to her and ordered two martinis.
The Price of a Dollar (Poem)
So fuck school, knew I'd never work a 9 to 5, born in ‘94, took
a different path since ‘95.. But growin up I- was kinda blessed
by the wealth Never stressed, mom and pop always had they
health Didn't know what struggle was, Never rode the struggle
bus, momma used to drive me, buy me, all the things that I had
wanted. Just to go to school and flaunt it. Make it look like
everything was all good,
But inside my head was haunted..
See pops was always working, Comin home 3 in the morning,
The pressure real, shit he'd pay for every meal, every bill, got
his blood pressure raisin hell.. Thats when he had a heart attack,
But what's the price of a dollar?
My damn father? Nah So I made a promise. I would do whatever
needed just to never feel the stress that he did. Fuck emotions,
started dealing wit the drugs, no more dramas. Everything cool,
yup, I started payin off the Mazda. Got my own cake.. and
started disobeyin mama.. My bad,
But what's the price of a dollar?
Now my momma stayin up late, wonder where I'm at and if I'm

safe, am I still awake? I'm only tryna catch a fade. Need
somethin to captivate my mind, cuz my skull too thick, and life
too short, the game too quick, that I could never catch a break..
So I'd dedicate like everyday to gettin high and slangin, And if
I'm dry, make sure I'd find another way to stay lit.. Cuz the
craving takin over, And I hate it when I'm sober, even rippin off
the homies.
So I be sleepin when I'm walkin, Never thinkin when I'm talkin,
Got me drinkin like a dolphin, more often than not- Smokin pot,
hackin a lung, coughing a lot. Now the drugs tapping into the
funds, how could it not? Til that one day I woke up bankrupt.
what the fuck. lookin back at the last 12 months like that was
more than one...?
Need to make a change, make a move, but i’m broke as fuck.
Running outta luck, but no chance that ima lose this buzz So i
made the jump, quite dangerous- lined the H up, deep breathe,
and ripped the bump
Feet up, never worry bout tomorrow, But deep down, was
slowly drowning in my sorrow.
The pressure just to find some success was always lurkin...
Easier to just act a fool, and close the curtain.. So all them days
my pops was workin late, back breaks, rat race, headaches, man,
it was all worthless....
Someone tell me- what's the price of a dollar
Honesuckles
My youth was short and blurred.
I imagine it felt like the last few moments
of Kurt Cobain’s life;
All light and no color.
Though I was born a winter baby,
Summers irrevocably held my heart.
They tasted like the sunscreen that dripped
onto my chlorine-damp lips
And smelled sweet like the honeysuckles
That strangled the Forget-Me-Nots,
falling and flying

Falling again, who would know
The places we’ve been, the places we go
Addicted to nothing, life seems so boring
When outside we see, a new day is dawning
First it was love, then it was hate
Then it was drugs, now its my fate
Falling and flying, at the same time
When inside you’re screaming, just buy a dime
The places she takes me, the places i’ll go
The Game
De ja vue-
I can't believe I'm back here again I thought as I crossed the
road. Memories of the shit hole we used to squat in came
flooding back as the house came into view. A single story
weatherboard house, most of the windows were broken, the
paint was peeling and the surrounding flora had begun its
timeless march back over the property. It's even worse for wear
now than it was back then, I wouldn't have thought that was
possible I chuckled to myself. I say back then but in reality it
was only 2 years ago, it felt like a fucking lifetime. 2 years ago
she was still with me and we had the world at our feet, now
pffftt. Something I'm not ready to deal with. Fuck it, must be
time to have a shot.
I stooped through the broken doorway dodging the broken bits
of furniture and needles. This place has been a junkies den for a
long time, empty beer cans and random junkie shit thrown
everywhere.....felt like home. I get my kit together thinking
about how I lost it all so quickly, what the fuck happened? I
look at my bag of dope like golum looks at a ring and realize I
probably only have 2 or 3 more shots in there. I glance up to the
nearest window, must be nearly 6pm the sun's setting. Well, I've
got a morning shot so I have until tomorrow lunchish before the
sickness sets in. I make a mental note to call Jake. I get my fix
together like a well drilled army exercise, dope in the spoon, 40
units of water in the syringe, squirt that onto the dope, give it a

quick stir, draw the liquid up, look at my arms, fuck, hit old
faithful in the crook of my arm and there it
isssssssssss.................
‘When We Were Still Young’
Deceitful dancing, princess distress. Anxiety lancing,
confidence to invest! I’m just a fuck up & recluse! Tainted ever
so faintly by decadent deviation!
Look up, those stars are the same sane building blocks, as when
we were both innocent. Just kids, faces hid for fear of being
seen and obscene with 40 oz of free roaming freedom.
Christian cut his lips, ever so quick, on the jagged pieces of the
broken bottle’s neck. Some days, I feel like I’m the crimson
running down his chin, his face still plastered with the Cheshire
Cat’s grin. Other days, I feel as if I am that broken bottle. Sharp
and deadly, dangerous and above all broken by a past trauma.
I get lost in thought whenever I cast my nets back in my
memory. Will I pull in nostalgic glimpses of times well spent?
Or will I haul to the deck of my mind those memories I buried,
left behind?
To be honest, I have no intention of dredging of the lake of my
subconscious for the corpses of the mistakes I made and the
regrets I hold still. Maybe, when we were still young, but now I
am too old.
Today in the Intake
Today in the Intake
With a smile calculated like a TI-84 Plus crunching SAT 2
numbers
the middle aged man shakes my hand, sleeve tatted arm
outstretched
in the room with the white plastic light and yellowing walls
Mom and Dad sit hallside mustering Adderall concentration
ears to the keyhole (as usual), thirsting for the word
of this well dressed contradiction Bradley
this rehab intake agent that reminds me of my cocaine dreams

Strong, in control, edgy
unwittingly a brusque cliche
Like the questions he fires from a DSM manual I’ve read
probably more than him
.
How did you support your addiction?
Well shit, I guess I -
my own words filter down to dark resin drivel I can’t smoke
and coat the looming walls of this drywall cavern
only barely audible through the penetrating silence surrounding
and the crackle of neurotransmitters seeking their daily
dopadose
conniving excuses to run like I did on the treadmill
that one time in Andrew’s basement
tweaked about as far as my ear when Ima pulled it till it bled
bursting with meaningless urgent energy
no blues to bring me back down
just a three finger heart monitor, pressing breathless
against my clammy sweat flesh
running like a fully geeked hamster
my cocaine stethoscope pulsing to the beat of
arrhythmic patterns born
of the resealable baggie stuffed with fish scale that tastes like
horseradish
.
today in the intake
I sweat through the nonchalant smile filling my face and plot
my escape
Hit Malcolm up, he’ll pick you up
He’ll get you out of here
But my burnt and noble best friend’s still waiting on the 3 grand
I owe him
3 grand converted to Calvin Klein currency, Kitty cat lines
chased with white
and I see him shaking Dad’s hand as he interrupts my
last mole bowl to pick me up and bring me here

this House of Return
where counselors will soon reference my potential
recommend making a schedule
and label my friends enablers
.
but in this moment I feel so intensely lost
seeking help
despite the outbursts at my parents
who wince and revel in their self-pity (self-care)
Despite the tough image I delicately tried and failed to
construct
this morning at their house in San Diego
Despite yesterday’s sleepless night spent lusting
after the clarity inherent in each freshly carved line
.
Today in the intake
Bradley senses my nervousness
through the veil of the black paisley bandana
blanketing my scalp
feels the doubt, the reservation
roiling in waves through my withered frame
calls my parents back in
tells us
Jacob’s not ready
gives me a sober living phone number
and dismisses me to my fate.
Blue Pill Flexing
Stoned off the blue pill Alice where you at
loans for to pay blue bills with a stack
low on the cash got jacked by the homie
Dezzys got the nine and we gon find the fucker shortly
Posted on the front porch blazed with a forty
face set in stone unfazed by these Mortys
hyperpowered brain running laps round the streets

acing classes though I’m blasted writing raps on the sheet
.
Cap on my dome its a Kippah for protection
Snort a line of addy for the mental resurrection
she fiddle with my pants I’m not distracted by erection
Calculating numbers for the bets that I’m hedgin
Hedgehog spikes spiked drinks spiced rum
Spic span I’m the man lil bitch where you from
Boxcutter open carry I don’t need a gun
open up your throat like you were singing for the Maan
.
Singing for the Maan, for the morning’s daily bread
Beg Hashem for all my needs and let the weed direct my pen
Stomach steady steeled against the sour scent of sin
Hissing like the snake that stole Eve’s innocence
Split in two another blue and crush between the cards
settle in the inspiration that seduces bawdy bards
The Horse You Came in On- Pt. 1
The night was bleak and dreary, like every other night, the sky
bursting with water, the drenched cobblestone sends spears of
lightning hot pain up the length of my legs. It's been a long
walk, and now I find my self in a long line like always.
They say Poe had his last drink here, whether or not that
actually is the case means very little to me. "I hope I have my
last drink here.", I say to myself out loud as any crazy person
would. My last drink from the deep swirling chaotic well that is
my heroin addiction. Almost on cue, not quite, of course,
"Heroin" by the Velvet Underground starts playing at one of the
bars inside. "I'm leaving before that god-awful cello starts
screeching", I think to myself. Or did I say that out loud too?
Don't know, don't care. I've accepted my madness long ago.
After I shuffle through the obese, the gross, and the macabre I
finally find myself at the bar. As I lean against it I feel a sharp

burning pain on my right forearm and immediately pull it back.
I just got a tattoo there, a raven, no less. How fucking fitting. I
side-lean onto the bar this time. I wait 15 minutes before the
bartender, Violet, notices me.
"What can I get for ya, hon?", she asks, staying true to the
Baltimore culture. If they don't call you "hon" then they call
you "asshole". Very black and white, it's why I love this
shithole town.
"Double Jameson on the rocks", I replied with a sigh. I was
hoping Violet would have realized I was a regular now and that
I always order the same drink. Beggars can't be choosers I
guess. I was smitten with her. As her name suggests, she had
dyed her hair violet. Radiohead tattoos ran the length of her
shapely arms, the thought alone makes me....
Never mind that. The point is moot. I need to find some dope. I
start scanning the crowd as she hands me my drink.
"Thanks asshole"
Attempting a Poem
Fentanyl mixed with mannitol
Sweet sweet taste running off the foil
Eyes pinned like a boa constrictor's coil
Nodding, spurting out random words my brain was in turmoil
I was burning oil I was chasing dragons and trains
Turned to the needle that shit was insane
Pawned my games, my chains, with no attempt to reclaim
Bloodstains became all that remained
Cocaine was something I had overcame
But heroin was a whole 'nother game
It took a bullet to the gut to change and turn sane
A second chance at life, "lucky motherfucker" is my Nickname
1

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ropiateswriters•Posted by uKrisleigh81How it all b.docx