In your metamorphosis I've found that you've been sifted straight to grounds
but to replace our A-B hits and fits and
midnight tricks followed by
cop car lights lit
is much like watering down
but I'll choose to take those sips so I take
one for the taste
one for the high
one for guilt free trips during 2nd period to the girls bathroom
and in three sips
I've fulfilled everything with innocence
but innocence doesn't leave a mark
wasn't what you were
and being innocent can't tear down christmas lights on 53rd street at 3am for no other reason but to say we did and to say we did it together
who am I to disturb external forces
with my rhythmic manifestations to a personal God who only puts me in favor
when it's deserved
but is it my fault
for having tasted something that I swear only exists on some
uncharted astronomical coordinates and
is it my fault
for having tasted 1/4th cup rain water and 3/4ths cup regret
so is it my fault
for only asking for what makes the lady at the cafe counter cringe and
in your metamorphosis, I've found my own
and found it
slightly less drug induced
yet slightly less symmetrical to yours than I had hoped
and although I'll live without the hits and shit we did
just for kicks
it's hard to shed the addiction, of Americas favorite morning
the minute it takes..
to trace the call,
to ducktape the suspects fucking face,
is the same minute a family home explodes in a cross section cutscene like 24.
more prisoners escape,
whores, pretty, but they're spies.
suckers got forks stuck in their eyes.
the trucker died, his hat now a subtle disguise.
soft talk and the novice gaurd complied.
I told the brass this whole fucking place needed modernised.
shot gun cabinets unlatched,
the last batch of canteen fat contained celephaned grendades.
outside it rains and mud slides thick as the chase vehicles flip onto their sides.
the helicopter follows a costumed imposter through the shadows of a suburban night.
people thrown out the way on the street like extras in a detective series.
"Freeze: get on your fucking knees"
"Ive got nothing to lose, ive got the the fucking hostage and im offering a trade off
don't fucking shoot,
or ill put a hole in this bitch bigger than you can fix pig, twitching at the trigger,listen quick
take a step back or ill do it, push me piece of shit cop".
blood on the concrete runs thin as it navigates and mixes with no forgiveness or mission.
track back until the dead are insect sized, centred in the wide shot of the city, wait a beat then credits rise.
Things could be better
they never seem to quite approach grand
despite all the planning you do
things never turn out like you planned
you were going to be a doctor
a lawyer or a even a cop
maybe a fireman scientist or banker
but life got in the way and you had to stop
you had to change your directions
you had to think things through
it was one thing or another
something always blocking you
but you never gave up your dreams
it was just a matter of which one would come true
you became a father a mother a companion
whatever you did the best you could do
so though things could be better
they could be so much worse
to give it all a way and give up
would have been the most evil curse
Gomer LePoet ....
Before I met her, I wanted to be her. Does that sound stupid? I wanted to be that fucked up junkie that did a bunch of drugs and always had money because she led men on and lived free and just lived life despite a daily brush with death. I was eventually, and I had an amazingly horrible experience.
I met her when I was 13. I spent a lot of time just "babysitting" her really. My other friends hated her. We'd come over and she'd literally go in the closet to shoot up and we'd just be chilling in her bedroom listening to Hole and being really confused as to why she didn't just use the bathroom. But she liked the attention and audience. This might seem cliche or mean or whatever, but it's true.
As my decent friends grew further away from me because I continuously grew closer and closer to her, I did a lot of cocaine, not nearly as much as I would later on in life. but enough to say, "wow I did a lot of cocaine when I was 15" and at the time, it seemed like an accomplishment. Maybe I thought I was cool, I don't know, now I just think I was stupid and weak and regret being like my father.
Obviously, as time went on, I did heroin. The first 500 times Natalie offered me it, I said no. I always said no, but she still always asked. If you know a heroin addict, there's something else you probably know. Heroin addicts love having other heroin addicts around because you guys will work together to make money and get more. This will probably turn into what it really is and what we were really were, and that's a co-dependent platonic couple, but I didn't know that until just now.
The day I finally did it, my god. My god. My god. My god. My god.
I feel slightly guilty writing this because I don't want to glorify drug abuse but Christ, did it feel good.
We were downstairs watching Hedwig and she gave me the eye to start talking to her mom so she could go upstairs discreetly. Then her mom was like "where'd she go?" so I went to go check, even though I knew.
I walk into the bathroom, scaring the fuck out of her. She had lines of heroin, diesel, whatever. We called it diesel, I don't know if that's like a common name for it? Is it? Whatever, I said "let me try it."
Why? I don't know why. To this very second I can't remember what I was thinking. She didn't ask, and maybe that's why. But she put some on her hand and I snorted it. I hated the taste. Sometimes I smell it, and I don't know what it is that smells like heroin, but I find myself saying out loud, when people are around, "ugh it smells like heroin."
This is one of my catchphrases I think, and I am not proud of it anymore.
People always ask me what it felt like the first time. I remember not feeling anything. I remember not feeling guilty for helping Natalie remain a drug addict in her parents house. I remember her pinching me and telling me not be obvious, but oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know that it was going to make me feel like a warm pancake that just wanted to sleep wide awake.
Sleeping wide awake, that's a good way to describe how it feels.
I tell people this a lot, this process of drug use, and how I ended up shooting heroin and kind of just ignoring that I was.
I smoked pot and said "well it's not like I'm doing E"
then I did E and said "I'm not doing coke"
then it was "it's not heroin"
and then it was "it's not like I'm shooting it."
Once I started shooting it, I didn't have any excuse or cop out, I was just curious as to what else I could inject into my body and became that glorified drug addict who lived free and did anything she wanted and felt like she came out of a book or a movie or a fucked up story you only hear strangers gabbing about on the train.
I was that girl. Natalie was much worse though. But that didn't come until I was about 18.
I had morals, yes even heavily addicted to heroin, I had morals. I didn't steal from my family. This was one thing that would not break for me even when I was maybe putting dick in my mouth for money. But that's not even entirely true because I didn't do it for the money, it just happened that way.
So I'm probably 16 at this point in the story. I'm meeting guys off MySpace with her, guys from rich towns that want pot or coke or heroin, just guys who can't get it in their towns. She's fucking them, I'm stealing from them. We don't keep friends very long because they know what we're up to after a few times.
She also sold her parents wedding rings, I didn't even know until after the fact, or I would have tried to stop her.
Her mother was so good to me. I spent a lot of time at their house. Her mom always invited me for holidays, despite the huge family they already had coming, because she knew my home life wasn't too good and she just treated me like I imagine you're supposed to treat a daughter you like. She was also very religious, which added to the blinders she had when it came to Natalie. She thought she could pray the drugs away, the way she tried to pray my gay away.
I was absolutely heart broken and completely beside myself the day her mother yelled, "she told me what you did. She told me you took the rings."
I didn't take the rings but what was I supposed to do? Try and convince her that Natalie did? She knew, somewhere she knew, but she didn't want to believe it so I just walked out of the house and never came back. I cried about that for a long time because I loved her mother, so much more than I am trying to say here. She might have been oblivious, but she was the sweetest woman in the world and I feel horrible that she had a daughter like Natalie.
I met so many characters. Chris. I don't remember his last name but it was something really white boyish. He would drive 45 minutes to us so we could get him 8 bags of heroin when he paid for 10, but we'd pocket two. We did this a lot during the day actually. We'd get drugs for people and just never tell them you get a bundle (10 bags) for 80$, and they'd tell their friends we'd go for them, and they'd think the same thing. Why? Oh, because these were very white people that were afraid of the "ghetto." And it was the ghetto, it was Newark, NJ. The corner of Victoria and Garside, what up, what up. Come see me.
I never really liked Chris. He was a musician but he wasn't that good. I think he thought he was Conor Oberst, and at that time, he kind of looked like him. But he was just some rich white kid with an inflated ego and I didn't feel bad ripping him off, or his Trust Fund Baby friends.
I did feel bad though when one of them died in front of us.
So I guess this is where I'll start writing the "shit got real real fast" stuff, now that I've hopefully explained the type of person I am and how I got to this point.
Why drug dealers cut their drugs with poison and whatever else, I'll never know. Bad for business if you ask me, but I've never been a big fan of the business world, but this seems pretty similar.
Natalie is driving Chris' car and we didn't snort any heroin yet, which was weird, but I'm grateful we didn't. We bring it back to Chris and his friends, who are waiting a few towns over for us. They get in the car and are like "just drive around for a bit so we can do this."
They all have separate bags, and I feel terrible I can't remember the girl's name that died, I want to say it was Karen or something like that but I know it wasn't. She just rolls up a bill and snorts out of the bag and within like 10 seconds she's screaming and everyone in the backseat is screaming and I turn around and there's blood pouring out of her nose and it's all over her hands and the car and her boyfriend and Chris and I think her eyes are bleeding but I'm not entirely sure if that's what was happening. And I'm like "What the fuck what the fuck" because it wasn't a normal nose bleed, this girl was just, flowing blood out of her face.
Natalie is emotionless as always. I'm screaming "get to the hospital get to the fucking hospital" and the girl is like screaming "it hurts oh my god oh my god it hurts" and her boyfriend is like "yo man, what the fuck bb are you okay bb."
It's weird that in situations like this everyone repeats themselves but I think your brain kind of stops working and you need to repeat yourself so the rest of you can process the magnitude of fucked up that your eyes are seeing.
Needless to say, Natalie didn't go straight to the hospital, she stopped the car a few blocks away. The girl died within 15 minutes. I don't know why Natalie or I wasn't held accountable for what happened, but I think it had something to do with me telling Chris who the dealer was, and this was the only time in my life I ever gave out a name, even when I was in jail, I didn't rat anyone out. But death is different and anyone who doesn't believe in being a rat when you're faced with that kind of guilt, is a piece of shit.
Natalie got out and started walking, Chris got in the front seat and I followed after Natalie. He did take his friend to the hospital immediately after but Natalie was being inhumane, and it was just better she got out of the car because she probably would have driven us all into a river to avoid being arrested.
I really have no idea why she got out of the car though, she had no fear, I think she was just annoyed, like this girl's death ruined her day when it ruined my life. I guess making a joke out of it makes it easier for me to deal with, but it still isn't. For me, it was monstrous, it was desensitizing, it was mortality showing itself and I was like "I'll never do heroin again." But that was a lie. I found out a week later via MySpace message that the girl had glass (!?) in her bag as well as heroin and I have no idea. I have no fucking idea what why how. I just don't understand that.
Chris still came around for heroin though. And he still brought his friends, just not the ones that were there that day.
What am I, like 17? I'm still senior in high school and I have really shitty concept of age, and I meet this other guy.
MY GOD WHAT A MAN.
Yeah, I said it. He was 38, built like Hulk Hogan, and had the sweetest smile and the most honest blue eyes I have ever seen.
He also had been out of jail for a whole year before we met him. He was tied to a car ring where people would pay him to steal cars. He was in jail for 6 years and when I turned 21, I heard he landed himself back in jail for trying to kill someone or something.
He was nice though. I couldn't figure out why he was so obsessed with Natalie. But the niceness wore out and I finally learned what a creepy pedophile he was.
He used to ride his bicycle to meet up with us and he had a lot of money, he just wasn't allowed a license. He was a construction worker for the union, made like 60$ an hour and what do you know, he was a heroin addict.
He told me how they get drugs inside jail. You get a girl to come visit you and sit down with you. You kiss them, like make out kissing because that's all you need. That like 4 seconds before someone is like HEY CUT IT OUT, and they have the drugs wrapped up in their mouth, and you get the picture. Just in case you were wondering how that works.
He also told me that I reminded him of his sister, that died of a drug overdose.
He also showed me his dick one day when he was at my house alone with me.
He also jerked off on my couch and tried to get me to suck it.
Then he tried to get me just to touch it.
Then I asked him to leave.
And then some other stuff happened that I don't feel comfortable writing about but I probably will another day.
He turned out to be a fucking weirdo and I don't really trust anyone with pretty eyes anymore. But he was fun. Once he started trying to impress me, a 17 year old girl, and Natalie who was like 22, he decided he'd go back to his old ways and steal cars. I can't count the amount of porsches I've been in or how many miles per hour we went or how many car accidents there were that we shouldn't have walked away from it unharmed. He never hit anyone else, just walls and guardrails, rolled into ditches.
Seat belts, seriously, wear them. I don't anymore, but I'm going to start again.
He used to give me a lot of money. A Lot Of Money, just to hang out with him and watch him jerk off and shit. I don't know sometimes when I think about these things.
Natalie did something stupid, she got caught stealing from him. He didn't mind giving us money and I think that's why he was so mad. He would have just handed it to her if she asked. So he started coming to my house a lot in stolen cars, then I introduced him to my other teenager female friends and it worked out really well for me.
He was gone for good and it was better that way.
I was still only snorting heroin up until this time of my life. The taste of heroin and the amount I puked from it was becoming too much and I was losing a lot of weight and it wasn't healthy looking so I decided to start shooting. I didn't even do it for the normal reason which is, you get higher, faster and harder.
Natalie and I are in a bathroom of my friend's house whose mother is handicapped, bed bound, so we just go there all the time to get high. The mother is also diabetic so there's a lot of unused empty needles. I help her shoot. And it's scary, she would shake and tremble and it was really bad. Sometimes I'd think to myself, "it's like your body is trying to stop you from doing it."
But if you like blood, watching someone shoot up is really cool. You mix water with the powder and, ew now that I'm thinking about it, what the fuck. You wrap your arm up, so your veins pop up, put the needle into a vein and you pull some blood out, I don't know the reason behind this, and you shoot it back into yourself.
I'm really uncomfortable with the whole idea of shooting so I shot into my hands because I had very prominent veins there. I eventually started shooting speed balls, heroin and coke, which was too much fun for someone as emotionally unstable as I was, to be doing something so completely unpredictable. The first time I shot heroin, I never snorted it again.
I shot Jack Daniels once and never did that again either. I figured I'd get drunk really fast, right? Wrong, it burned like a bitch and I started smashing my hand into the bathroom sink screaming "WHAT THE FUCK WHY DOES IT BURN."
It's whiskey, Audrey. Whiskey.
I met so many more people when I was shooting. I became friends with an entire strip club, all the strippers, their boyfriends, their "daddies" and just, those kinds of people, and like I said before, I'll write about that another day. But that is where I met Janelle and Kevin, aka, Jack and Sally. They were these really gothy heroin addicts and this is going to be ridiculous, but it was so beautiful when they shot up.
Kevin would be like "okay, baby, ready?" and he'd caress her arm and she'd wrap it, and he'd kiss her and then kiss her arm, then he'd put the needle in and I'd be sitting on the bed sobbing because I thought it was so cute, in like, a really disgusting "I'm clearly on drugs" kind of way.
I didn't hang out with them for that long, Natalie fucked Kevin and that sucked because Kevin and I used to make forts inside the house and talk a lot about nothing, but it was fun and I felt like a child, and I liked feeling like I was a child and that it was okay I was acting the way I was.
A bunch of people that hung out there eventually started doing heroin and I couldn't stand it so I had to get away from a bit because my guilt came back and I felt like I was killing everyone.
Natalie started setting up drug deals so they'd get ripped off if they went without her, she started turning on me, stealing from me, she had me set up for a deal and her dealer put a gun in my mouth when I started arguing with him about how he gave me like wood chips or whatever. It was not heroin, but we still ran like thieves together.
She introduced me to the next guy we were going to use, his name was Pablo. He was about 42 and lived in his parents basement. He was an outstanding artist, I mean, I couldn't figure out why he was in his parents basement with the amount of talent he had. We used to smoked embalming fluid with him and angel dust.
Now, if you ever want to know what it feels like to be Alice in Thunderland, smoke embalming fluid. I went on a 4 day drug binge that consisted of nothing but dust, fluid, heroin, coke, and crack. I didn't smoke as much crack as they did because it was the last frontier and I wasn't' desperate enough to be a crackhead. After the binge, I went brain dead for a few hours. I literally sat in the same place not doing anything. I remember getting up at 9am and then actually standing up at about 6pm.
I knew a girl that fucked all my friends and I was like "yo, what about me?" because I actually Had Feelings For Her. She was apparently in love with me but I had no idea that's why she never got with me. She used to come to the house I had been avoiding, but soon returned to, and without fail, whenever a girl runs her nails down my knees I think about her. She used to sit on my lap and do that over and over until I was noticeably uncomfortable, then she'd laugh, tease me more and leave.
She OD'd the 2nd day she did heroin.
I got the panicked phone call from my friend Ant telling me to come over, that she was dry heaving and things were out of control and no one knew what to do. I was always in control, and I'll probably finish this up with why very shortly.
I get there, she's screaming at me because Natalie tried to steal 1200$ from her but somehow made it seem like I was going to and she said a lot of not nice things to me and I told her I hope she fucking died, because I was so hurt by her accusations, she stormed out of the house and out of the 9 people there, I was the one who ran after her.
She was about a block ahead of me when I saw her collapse. I was in such a fog I didn't even know I had a phone on me, I just ran to her screaming at the top of my lungs "SOMEONE CALL 911. SOMEONE CALL 911"
Repeating, it's a thing.
And I'm kneeling next to her crying and telling her I'm sorry and how beautiful she is and how much I love her and to please not do this to me and I'm still screaming for help and then, one of the secretaries from my school comes out of her apartment and is like "Audrey?… oh my god is that.."
and she calls 911 and the paramedics are asking if she's on something, and I'm like, she's anorexic I don't know what's going on, and he tells me if she's on drugs, he needs to know. So I tell him she took heroin, but I wasn't lying about her eating disorder.
No one would bring her ID to the hospital because everyone is scared to get in trouble, so I go, her mother shows up.
The question I have?
Where the fuck is Natalie? She let this girl buy 30 bags of heroin, take 5, on her second day of doing it, and vanished, probably with 10 bags of her own.
And that was the difference between Natalie and I, and just one of the reasons I'm so embarrassed I ever associated with her. I may have been a junkie, but I was still a mildly decent person.
My friend lived, but she got out of the hospital, emptied her mother's savings account, shaved her head, started wearing wigs, fucking a drug dealer, working at a strip club, and no one saw her for like 6 months until Natalie came back from Cape Cod after she left her to die in a hotel room from an OD.
No, none of this deterred me from doing drugs. I stopped talking to Natalie after this happened. I did something really dramatic like called the cops on her.
I started shooting speed balls more often, I guess to deal with the guilt and the fact that I was literally being terrorized by ghosts. Within a week, I OD'd. I remember everything turning purple, like almost black purple and laying on someone's bed. Everyone was in the kitchen hanging out making drinks, and I could hear them but I couldn't move and then I heard less and I was like "oh my god, I'm dying."
I prayed for the first time in my life. I prayed that I didn't die, I think my exact words were "please don't let me die, don't let my mother know this is how I died." I felt something grab me, which I identify as my grandmother or God, and it is irrelevant to decide which or if I was even touched, because I snapped out of it and shot out of the bed gasping.
I remember stumbling into the kitchen and saying "you guys, I OD'd" and someone say "do you want some juice?" and me saying "no, I do not want some juice."
I went home for the first time in weeks and straight to my room where I slept for 3 days. When I woke up, I never did drugs again. I guess I woke up in more than one way. There's a lot of really disgusting dirty things involved with this time of my life, but I didn't want to write this to further prove what a pervert I am, just that drugs are a lot of fun but really fucking stupid and no one should do them because you turn into something that you can't stomach once you think about it years later.
Also, you have a lot of stories you can't tell people you know in real life that were all busy being great people while you were trying to kill yourself slowly.
The well is dry
Not much thought
Nowhere to go
The well is dry
I envision black crocodiles
With razors for
Teeth, chuckling underneath
Their putrid, blood stink breath
Their belly's tanning
In the sun like I wish I could
Pepper shakers for
Limbs caring for
The war sick wounded
Sounding like the whoosh
Of the first windy roar
From an atomic explosion
Naked and writhing and waiting
For death to crack his knuckles
The big sleep at last
Where no light can be seen
Taking comfort in the new, familiar darkness
At night, when there isn't much going on,
I see the water start to boil over
The food begin to rot in its bowls
Lakes churn from no wind or rain or boat
Only spinning to feel its means has an end
Here, the fish weep into their scaly fins
And night - when there isn't much going on -
With the bars all open and the churches all closed
And the streets bursting with de-salienation tools
Branded with love and hate and indecency;
Where matters pressed are things worth dying for
And the trains and trams pass by
A junky dies
A cop makes a young woman cry
There is not much
But there are still things happening
I try to hear them
I get lucky every now and again
When there isn't much going on,
The dust of the dirt
Fills my nostrils, making it
Hard to breathe and I see
Snakes have bitten my feet,
Though they do not swell and
Laughter of one who once loved me,
Has turned to the ringing in my ears
Clouds form the forward march
And the fortress has buckled down
This place does not need to make sense
Here, I can be alone with no one but
Who I was before and who I wish to be
The well is dry tonight
But, I continue seeking
I keep on
Brushing away the dust
And wiping away the blood
The well is dry tonight
And I try to keep on
Don't look me up
You will not like what you find
Past is past for a reason
I forgive quickly but
Deep cuts scar the best
Belt around the bicep
I'm accustomed to balled fists
Bruised and pierced
Swimming in a broken blood vessel
Cause I just wanna forget- Everything
I can see it in your eyes
You wanna fight or fuck me
Can't tell you the difference
I don't want to go to hell
Maybe just a visit
God hates track marks
But the devil likes to kiss them
Demons want to talk to me
While I'm at dinner with my family
The world is spinning
And I am on a certain dark street
Lurch lights a cigarette when the cop lights flash on
One more strike and you're gone
A God of second chances
I would know for certain
Just a peak behind the curtain
Heaven sent oblivion
I'm fine with being alone
Its better this way
Because people ask too many questions
Why are you wearing long sleeves on a hot summer day?
This time I passed on the Wesco,
Went on to another gas station
Usually the prices are a little bit better
But after the last run in...
Rolled my eyes at the thought
I pondered the cop, all great smiles and professional
He made rather a pain-in-the-ass inconvenience
Less of a hassle, an easier ordeal
this time I looked and I thought...
nah, I got shit to do!
Like unpacking and cleaning a house!
Walking with my girls down the lively mainstreet
Stopping to window shop and discuss a trip for ice cream
Several times we were jolted from our entertainment
As horns honked while they were passing,
No traffic or other pedestrians to illicit such a reaction
I've been in a quiet village for quite some time
forgot the feel of a city, it will take time for me to readjust
A cop cruised by a little later, he did such a double take
it caught my attention and I thought, oh for heaven's sake
What the hell is so damn odd about a woman walking with her children?
We weren't screaming, wild, or crazy, just enjoying the new situation
Perhaps I had a tail of toilet paper trailing loosely from my sandal! Lol
just one more shot to give me the courage
just one more bottle for the open road
now what was I saying before you interrupted
need money from the bank can't remember the code
people are chasing me all over the city
they think I know secrets of importance it seems
maybe I'm a spy and don't really know it
they brainwashed me and left me alone in my dreams
I could have been a champion of many endeavors
hey barkeep pour me just one more glass
I know I'm being watched from different angles
all of you bastards can just kiss my ass
my pockets are empty my suit coat ripped
where is my wallet and my fucking keys
hey who stole my drink while I wasn't looking
what are you saying what fucking disease
my mother was a dancer my pop a cop
they left me alone to fend for myself
I doubt if they every really truly loved me
hey give me a drink from that bottle on the shelf
got to get to Boston to close that deal
5 million bucks give or take a dime
I think those asses or talking about me
please a shot of tequila and a slice of lime
some say I'm crazy some a drunken bum
they're all just jealous of my fortune and wealth
I'm performing tonight at the President's request
need a good disguise so I can arrive in stealth
people will seek my autograph want to touch my hand
now where in the hell is my drink bartender
you know the Taliban were frightened by my skills
they had no choice except to surrender
Gomer LePoet ....
I remember when her son died.
Suicide by cop
But she didn't want to believe it.
So she stayed up all night making t shirts with
her sons face on them
She wanted justice for brad.
But justice for what?
And everyday she walks into work
with a slump.
Eyes almost to say as if she's high.
And she complains all day about
anything she can.
Why do you pity yourself?
Have you not heard that the grass is
greener on the other side?
But that's something she'll never
Her mind is set on one thing and one
And that's justice for brad