Poem: Life as a Legalised Junkie

Another day and my body
is shaking.
My heart feels like a
hummingbird; ultra-light
and beating too fast
I dont't know what's
wrong with my body
I'm scared and I
want to cry.
Popping an extra
Xanax and Methadone pill
I sit beside a tree
in the shade
and write in my little book
to get outside my
vastly uncomfortable
perspective
for a moment.
This feeling can't go on all day,
it's too fucking severe.
I'll die of heart attack, first.
Too shaky to write..
(writing become illegible)

...(20 Mins later)
A little better now.
Maybe the damn heat
makes me sweat out my medicine
too fast. Fuck.
Life as a legalized Junkie:
Where my dope comes from
a smiling pharmacist at Walgreens
and it's never enough
to get me high,
just enough to keep me from
screaming in pain and
shaking with spiders
all over my skin.

No sleep last night,
but greatful, exhausted,
tossing and turning.
Like every night.
Somehow I know that
I will never be O.K. again.
The rest of my life
will be spent with The Doctors, or worse:
spent with Guards or Nurses.

Too sick to have a life,
to have a job,
to have a wife.
Too sick to have friends,
to sick to have joy.
There's not much life left,
for this too-sick young boy.

"Fuck it," I think,
as I take two more pills,
"I have them for a reason,
might as well take them."

Like any proper Junkie
I've been hoarding my pills
against a run at the pharmacy
or other unforseen emergency.
Doling them out to myself
oh-so-carefully.
Ever aware of the monkey on my spine
and the proverbially tight Anus's of Doctors
when it comes to medications like mine.
(With good reason too, I'm sure;
I would not wish my condition on anyone
who had other choices left in life.
Indeed if my parents loved me more
I would have other choices. But that is
for a paralell universe. In this one I'm
on my own and the best Doctors I can afford
are Free!)...

The meds do some good,
the worst of the shaking has stopped.
I can still feel my heart,
like a feather,
trying to climb up my throat
and the worms in my stomach
that can't decide if I am hungry
or naseus, but suddenly life
is slightly more barable.
My breathing gets deeper;
and I decide to go walk.
If life gets too unbarable
I can always come back to this tree
and I can always take some more pills.

Poem: I'm Dieing

I feel like I'm dieing.
The Dr. told me I lost 30 pounds
in the last three months.
Wasting away.
I'm not hungry,
just a dull lump in my stomach.
On the verge of crying
but the tears wont come.
Something in my heart stops them;
like my body can't afford to waste
precious water on tears.
Concentration hurts.
Nothing is good,
I want to just keep walking,
keep reading,
keep doing anything,
anything except stopping,
and thinking about my life
and how horrible I feel
and how even if
someone does care about me
there is nothing they can do
but give me: Money, food, drugs, or sex.
Everything else is useless now.
Now that I am dieing,
poor, insane, and lost
to the world.

Give me a quarter?

Poem: might call it "hopeing"

It's been two days
and she still isn't here yet.
I look down the road
to see if I can see her coming.
Nope.
There could be an email waiting for me,
right now,
saying she is coming.
Or saying that she's never coming again.
I havn't been able to bring myself to check.
Just keep looking down the road
expecting her.
Some might call it "hopeing"
but it doesn't feel very hopefull.

Maybe 'cause I know
she wont come again.

Poem: The Park

I'd forgot how nice a park could be,
for one who's homeless and pointless like me.

A patch of grass and water fountain,
gives me rest, from life's great mountain.

Troubles in Love and pains in my body,
all put aside in attempts to be jolly.

And though it will pass, as all good things do.
I'll be at the park, till this day is through.

Poem: A Little Peace

I am so glad that it is night time.
Alone-time. In my hut. Swaddled in clothes.
Reading by candle-light.
Safe, for now. Nothing pressing,
for a bit.
Just me. And the noises.
My worries, bugs, and one of three rats.
I want to go to sleep,
but I've waited so long for this peace-time,
I do not want it to end.
I do not want to wake up
to another sunny tommorrow.
My candles are burning
and there arn't many left.
It's early in the month
to be so broke.
I'd better appreciate it now.
Who knows when
I'll have even a little peace
again.

Poem: Abuser

She fixes my heart
to show me
I can't have her.

Opens my powers
to feel to care to love
so she can leave me.

She puts on a game
and I see the abuser
within myself.

I hate the abuser
and don't know
what to do with him.

But be alone.
And hate myself.

Poem: Homecoming

Coming home today
I had the momentary dellusion
that you would be there
waiting for me.
We would hug each other close
as we murmered our apologies
between hot kisses and warm tears.

Oh, how I wished you'd be there.

Nothing met me at home
as usual
but the empty shack
and the birds.
Never had my home felt so empty
nor my homecoming so pointless.

Yesterday I found my monster.
Felt things i don't even want
to admit.
I never knew I could feel
so evil.
I never knew I could hate
myself so much.
But mostly I never knew
the desire to hurt
the one I love.

It lives within me.

Though it's gone,
right now,
I caught it.
I know it's there
just waiting.
For the proper stimulus.

It's better I'm alone,
you see?
A monster lurks inside.
Protect us both
by leaving me;

Once loved,
Now loveless,
Forever unloveable.