Twisted morbid thoughts
Life sucking streams
Hearts grow cold
Feelings go numb
Lonely empty open space
All the time in the world to waste
Alone in life is alone in death
Never alone when on crystal meth.
© 1997 Crystal Erickson
iMMa Love You
Till The Day They Make Me Leave You.
They Don't Know Your My Soul & i
I Know iTs Wrong, But iT Feels So Right.
Crystal has me in chains,
chains in which I cannot break free,
with these thoughts
that are permanently stained
in this uncontrollable mind of mine,
What is left of my brain?
There is a cold front hovering the streets
of my decision making,
and the streams of my veins
have been covered with ice,
frozen, with no movement.
I feel as if I will receive no improvement.
My emotions, how they run in this colorless
How they leak into my life,
and destroy my relationships,
stabbing them with the Grim Reaper's Scythe.
I have mutilated myself,
my life, my sanity.
It seems as if there is no humanity.
This self destruction, has left me cold-blooded.
The Crystal has flooded into my mental pictures,
How I have doused my memories
with her chemical mixtures.
I feel as if I am falling in an endless hole,
as this frigid frost overwhelms my soul.
I am screaming for help,
yelling my grief,
I have lost myself, even my teeth.
Can anyone hear me?
It would be nice to know,
I don't think I will survive much longer,
as my blood ceases to flow.
No one can save me,
She is coming for me,
coming to enslave my body
Picking at my brain as if she
was performing a lobotomy.
I have lost to her, I surrender.
Through this horrific endeavor,
I feed her what's let of me.
I am Crystal Meth's galore,
and she is mine.
Her hands grab on to me,
I know I am out of time.
She speaks to me in tongues,
how they intrude my mind...
She captivates me, and
drags me down.
And I have finally realized,
I am to lost to be found.
Fuck you and your devilish traps
thanks for making my good days go to crap
thanks for separating me from my mother,
for making me look like a fuck up to my brother
thanks for the addiction I have to face
you really did take me to another place
thanks for making me into the person I am
at least you never made me slam
thanks for making me stay up for a week or two
you showed me that I got nothing to lose
thanks for putting shadows in front of my eyes
but if it wasn’t for that I wouldn’t have realized my lies
I now put a gat in the side of my lap
cause I can’t even sleep or even take a nap
I’m always moving around , where ever it is you take me
bringing me to my dealers house making me beg on my knees
even if it’s just leftover’s, crumpled up in aluminum foil
Now I pick my arms because I think it begins to boil
I’m known as the black sheep in my family
you made my life a fucked up tragedy
The scars you caused aren’t only visible but mental
Thank god I stopped before I melted my dentals
There’s still a voice in my head telling me not to leave you
but I want to start my actual life, I want to be someone new
I thank you for the shit caused, for the mistakes you made me do
But I’m leaving you now, one last thing, fuck you.
For my birthday I would like a few new veins
And a brand new life, okay?
Wrap up some happiness, love and a little bit of sanity
With Star Wars wrapping paper from the late to mid-70’s,
Be sure to use bubble wrap because those three things
Can’t arrive cracked, I can’t survive disappointment like that
Help me find a way out of the life I’ve been trapped
And stop me if I ever try to go back.
Today is October 17th and I am now twenty-three years old,
Daydreaming of quitting before reaching twenty-four
I’m alone in my apartment, sober and painfully lonely
Thinking of all the ways I could make my life end.
I spend every day counting numbers in my head,
Adding dollars, subtracting minutes and hours
Ounces and grams, dividing 1.5 by 2
And injecting the remainder into my arm
I’ve never been any good at math
But I’ve become an expert at calculating
The amount of poison needed to keep breathing,
The amount of toxins required to stop myself from
The equation is simple:
Just count up all of your regrets
Add that number to how many mistakes you’ve made,
Multiply the sum by how many people you’ve disappointed
Now take that product and add all the people you miss,
Multiply that sum by how many lovers have said,
“I’m sorry but, I just can’t do this”
What number are you now left with?
That number is the amount of reasons you have
For wanting to quit all of this
To check out, to give in – to end it
You can take that number and subtract it by grams,
You can reduce the amount of pain that you’re in
Numb is possible with poisonous subtraction.
Right now my bag is empty and so is my wallet,
I have no variable left to subtract from
There’s only more addiction and multiplication
What happens when I reach infinity
And there’s no poison left to reduce the severity?
Is it sick to find it slightly poetic to die on the day
You took your very first breath?
I’m growing tired of math and equations
I’m better with words and false explanations,
Am I simply venting
Or is this my official letter of resignation?
Well, you do the math.
I’ve subtracted my life into the negative
And I’m sick of being in debt.
The hints of a razor gleam
creeping up from behind
shivers begin to scream
a thought undefined.
Crystalline destruction manifests
in shards of failed dreams
circulation and cells cease
I am dumber today.
Clogging and fogging the mind
promises cheat their way into lies
when depression becomes a way of life
serenity is found at the end of the line.
Escaping the cavity
in trails of shame
in vigour and madness
incapable of sadness.
Black hole eyes
cannot see the coming despair
the next morning impairs
certainty is a lie.
Senses start to fail
iron will turns frail
the devil’s sugar and salt
must never be taken so lightly.
Subtle and methodical
killing what makes you, you
another round for old time’s sake,
and you’re stuck to it like glue.
No no no, this isn’t one of those commendable confessional rants of redounded reality.
We all know where that goes and what it leads to.
This rhetoric comprises solely of the faulty intuitive comprehension and the bullshit behaviour people have while under the influence of the poor man’s meth.
That could be mistaken for a typo.
Xeno-meph, would be what aliens are called if they did this too.
Extended warranty of your sinus cavity is a must.
And a mouth guard so you don’t churn away at the capricious calcium that are your teeth.
Smoke and dance till lungs and legs collapse.
Talk like you’re the spokesperson for an oil company that’s pillaging life and land.
Change your personality in a minute and become the douche you always wanted to be.
That smart talking, dick wagging, pussy licking, ass fucking, back stabbing, self serving, worthless piece of shit is now you, but it doesn’t feel like that to you.
Rational bullshit, your only reprieve.
Keep doing the same things over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again hoping the outcome will change.
But you’re cool.
You’ve done this before, it’s solvable.
A break. That’s all there’s to it.
The itch in your nose has stopped. Your jaw doesn’t hurt.
You don’t feel like shit, but you know somehow that something is amiss.
Things are not what they seem. Sense doesn’t make itself.
The dark is your sanctum. Fast is your peace.
That’s not a typo.
The world cannot slow down for you.
You have to speed up. Another gram, another line, another lie.
Control is what you say it is.
Handles are what your stomach has.
Fast forward a few months and you don’t have a handle on anything.
You don’t feel down, you feel fine. Nothing’s wrong
But just another fall, and you’re straight out of line.
Justify! Justify! Justify!
Listen, keep listening… Talk! keep talking!
Everything makes sense. Everything is a sense.
The difference is that I’m faster, quicker, sharper.
Leverage is my mind, broken and blind.
I wish that was a typo.
iTs Difficult To Live Mylife,
The Problems iHave And Keep Creating.
Not Knowing Who iAm
Being A Drug Addict Who Cant Seem To Stop There Bad Habit.
They Say iTs Easy You Just Want To Want iT.
Not iF You Fallen So Low, left All Alone.
iM Deep iN This Shit, Deserve To Be 6ft Down To Rest.
iTs The Best.
iM Doing Nothing But Disappointing The Ones Taking There Time Trying To Support Me.
Wasting There Encouragement Not Knowing iWont Last Long Before iUse And Fall Back in
The Same Cycle All Fucking Over Again :/
iTs Very Sad, To Continue This.
Been To Many Places Yet Nothing Changes,
iM Tired And Overwhelmed .
Why Am iUsing Now?
This Drug Fills Everything Up inside Of Me.
This is The Reason Why iWent Back To iT.
Before iT Was Cause iLoved The Effects And Kept Trying To Get High Asf Like My 1st Hit,
Then Lead To Me Going At iT Cause
My Body Felt Like iT Couldnt Function Off iT
Which Made Me An Addict .
Loving And wanting To Always Have iT.
Before iT Was Great,
Then they Found Out The Truth.
Ever Since Then Ive Been Living Daily On Lies Having To Hide iT, Denying im On iT When Clearly iTs Obvious.
Chemicals Messing With My Mood ,
My Mind Now Plays Tricks On Me. Dont Know When itl Be Over Cause iDont think il
Want To ever Be Sober.
Do not lay, lay in fair repose, sweet angel,
My one true love whose dreams give wing to solemn night
And steer the stars above this swale of ragged wood we call our home.
Arise fair angel!
Hurry! Let us hurry to the peach grove
Before the breath of morn gives harbor to the chatter of birds
And the knells of treacherous commerce call me to my obedience.
Awake from your slumber!
Here in the peach grove,
where the herons drink from the mouth of their reflection
we shall build our quaint crib of cockle burrs & jellybeans
and make love & eat Ben & Jerry's all day without getting fat
& drink Cointreau & order shit we don't need over the Internet.
Here in the peach grove, we shall build our brave new world
where there's real justice and and suicide bombers wake up to a harem full of seventy virgins but their cocks are blown off and they don't eat pussy.
Here in the peach grove where the traffic lights are synchronized and everyday is a four day weekend in a leap year of Sundays
and where there are as many raisin nuts inside the cereal box as there are on the pretty picture on the outside
and where you answer a piece of Nigerian spam mail and actually receive a certified check for 40 million dollars
and where people who drive while using cell phones crash and burn on the second ring (and on the first ring if they're driving an SUV); crash and burn along with the scumbag tailgaters who honk their horns at you the nano second the light turns green
and where gas prices fall to a dollar a gallon but everything's in walking distance anyway all cars have been beaten into ploughshares -- except for Ferraris which are transformed into gelato
and where Martha Stewart goes back to prison and just stays there for life
and where George W. Bush gets fucked in the ass by an escaped Texas Death Row inmate
Hurry with me to the peach grove where the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.
NOW WAKE THE FUCK UP, BITCH!!!
No one ever, no one ever shall dare keep us apart.
Morpheus the chemist, lays murdered; he floats face down
like Ophelia, gurgling obscenities to the fish.
Now, you and I & me and you,
just the four of us
shall lie awake forever & ever & ever,
tweaked, cranked and spun like Rapunzel
until our swirls of dust have righteously mingled
and squarely blackened this howling cunt-eye of a moon.
Please wake up, Angel. Please,
Baking Bad Cookbook: Crystal Blue Margarita
Baking Bad Cookbook: Crystal Blue Ices
Baking Bad Cookbook: Crystal Blue Cheese Coleslaw
Baking Bad: Red-Hot Cajun Crystal Blue Cheese Wings
For my crystal meth junkie piece please visit:
Romeo's Crystal Meth Lullaby (Poetry Slam Audience Favorite)
For my related New Mexico piece please visit:
The True Demographics of Santa Fe