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Anna Himes Oct 2019
Look, my face, in there the misery lies
A hit, a peck, to your neck, I’ll stab you
Past the doldrums of the eyes, stab the thighs
Stab me, stab you, we are part of a crew

Who is to blame for this which we suffer?
Choice or illness: is this my habitus?
Who is to ask, is she a good mother?
Filth, grime, slime, a dime, but I am righteous

Don’t want to go to jail, got to get well
Reach out for help, and they put me there. Hell!
Is it my fault; am I even my own?
Come to the Hole, show you the seed we’ve sewn

Look, my face, in there the misery lies
Look, my face, in there the human soul sighs
inspired by "Righteous Dopefiends", a photoethnography centered around a community of ****** addicts
Anna Himes Jan 2019
Are they frozen tears?
Or are they just ornaments;
Crystalline ice that forms her
Anna Himes Jan 2019
Columnar Tulip
Encased in her dripping tears
She will breathe again
Anna Himes Jan 2019
How blessed we must be to bathe in your presence
Most definitely, it was our very first preference
We just love to hear of your mean-spirited opinions
Oh, how great it is to be your minions
just kinda ****** with someone right now ha
Anna Himes Jan 2019
Did I spin you in my web?
Sometimes I think I am a spider,
Slinking towards my prey while from morality I ebb.

Yes, ever since I entered the era of my deb,
Medusa has availed every attempt of mine to hide her.
Snakes lunge from my head and sink into my victim’s neb.

My poison. It lingers and putrefies each inch of your skin with a bleb.
It is my fault after all, I had lured you in with desire.
But still, I ask, did I spin you in my web?

No, I did not; I am no spider and you are no fly.
It is you who are the beguiler,
You with your grasping fingers and lingering eye.

Even Medusa once was innocent, and her actions did testify.
It was Poseidon who plunged such fatal malice inside her;
He who desecrated her dignity, he who would not shudder at her cry.

You are poison. But still, you exclaim, “I’m a Good Guy.”
It is your fault, you are the deviant, the power-hungry, and the liar.
I am no spider, and you are certainly no fly.

And yet, as the within is vast, I do have space for Hope.
Despite the fear, in goodness and all things right I wish to believe.
I am this way, whether by greater design or a natural way to cope.

In my dreams, I enter into that human kaleidoscope,
Taken into the holy garden of Adam and Eve,
Where the lion may walk with the antelope.

And then I wake and remember every sickening *****.
I remember the consequences of being naïve.
And yet, I do have space for Hope.

— The End —