a bottle of wine and some cigarettes
I'm calling off all my bets
I pray for hope, ain't found it yet
I guess this is all I get

a pair of boots and a dusty trail
I walk alone and tell my tale
I do my best, but I don't prevail
I guess it's all a fairytale

some cigarettes and a bottle of wine
I will get along just fine
to try to defy what's in my mind
I guess sometimes I might be blind

a little smoke and a little drink
I'm no longer on the brink
a dying mind, it starts to stink
I guess I just need time to think

a bottle of wine and some cigarettes
I'm holding off on all my debts
I guess I'll live with my regrets
a guess is all a guess begets

I woke up naked
somewhere between you and me.

I must have been a tiny spider, curled up,
unfolded my limbs,
sweat adhesive for the sheets.
Liquefied myself
again.

You play with my tongue,
melding
with my spit
and my lungs.

I must have been a wind chime, swaying silently,
chest quivering, bare ******* showing,
wrists cracking, still trying to unwind.

I woke up naked
and swallowed you whole.

I was a certifiable ******
With the classic monkey
Riding squarely on my back
But I had no needle tracks.
I was almost undetectable
As my addiction was respectable.
No, I was not a rock musician.
I got my dope from my physician;
An almost never-ending source
Offered up with no remorse
I only had to mildly complain
That I was experiencing pain
And the cornucopia opened wide.
It held my immediate future inside.

I was off to party with friends
To the cabaret that never ends;
That free-wheeling waking dream
That made everything in life seem
As if nothing mattered that day
But that we should all stay and play.
And if something was getting tiring
It was time to retune the wiring
With a few more clever little pills
That cured all my temporary ills.

If I was exhausted or had an ache
It was time to take a little ****** break
Or, maybe not just that dosage alone.
Maybe better to take some Oxycodone.
Then, I can keep on night-club dancing
And backseat, hyper-speed romancing.
And later, needing sleep; a downer
Is good for an out-on-the-towner
Who has needed some rest for days
But the normal drugs and party ways
Wouldn’t quite let me get to sleep.
I felt that above all else, I had to keep
On doing what I was doing: having fun.
There was too much ******* to be done.

But every kind of candle has two ends.
There’s the one where the thing begins
And when I was trashing around a lot
Thinking of the other end was really not
The kind of thought-process I liked.
I wanted to do more of the kind that hiked
My awareness and my stamina to the max
And “injects my existence with what it lacks”.

While today I shudder to remember my words
At that time they were the best I’d heard
Since chocolate cake and butter cream icing.
None of that workaday stuff was to my liking.
It would be nearly twenty nearly deadly years
Before I found myself on a sidewalk in tears
Asking myself where things had gone wrong.
And while I am sure you are sick of this song
At the time it was a sad music to my ears.
Today, it’s the only music I want to hear.

I’m an addict

and

it’s all your fault.

There’s
a comfort
that your skin carries

it’s...
overwhelming.

It’s an aphrodisiac, it’s an anesthetic.

I’m addicted to your touch

I’m intoxicated by your embrace

The side effects?

I feel a shuddering in my bones,
my every muscle relaxing,
almost collapsing.

My breath slows to a light drag,
my thoughts become just as soft as your lovely skin.
My every worry is drawn away,
anxiety flows out of my veins.

This is symbiosis;
I release my emotional toxins
and you bestow upon me this ethereal comfort.

Laying between your legs,
my head caressed by your thighs,
my head above your ***,
and my arms wrapped about your gorgeous form,
I get my fix.

I’m an addict, my dear,

just

please don’t send me away.

This is an ode to Adderall,

that wonderful mixture of

dextroamphetamine sulfate

dextroamphetamine saccharate

amphetamine

aspartate monohydrate

and amphetamine sulfate capsules

that all combine together

to form a prescribable pill

questionably similar to the Schedule II controlled substance street drug

commonly refered to as "Speed."


This is an ode to the children

who are bundles of energy caged in a classroom

incapable of concentrating

on the miniscule tasks given to them

by pedagogical authorities that

promise societal success and economic happiness

to those who complete their work on time

without a fuss or a doubt as to why they're

filling in bubbles on paper in the first place.

The confused children who watch

as others with calmer brains

fixate eyes on textbooks

rather than out the window.


This is an ode to Society

deeming these individuals as broken

choosing to wound then medicate

rather than proliferate.

That took their inquisitiveness

and locked it in a book with the label "DISORDER"

stating that you will never be anything

unless you think and feel the same way we do.

And much like a mad doctor

lobotomizing those whom he thinks insane

they synthesized a pill

to dampen a torrential brilliance

allowing them to place their sedated children

back in the box where they belonged.


This is an ode to the college students

chained by academic standards

expected to excel towards great things

if only they reach that ethereal diploma.

The students who crave the artificial focus

the increased capacity for concentration

with the broadened spectrum of perception

the sense of purpose in the tedium

the ungodly ability to think clearly

and perform the meaningless tasks they expect of us.

The students who go through illegal means

to purchase said drug

to swallow or snort

and dive back into the mountain of responsibility

with a new found sense of productivity and motivation.

An ode to the students

unable to find purpose in studenthood

the ones who find more virtue in watching the sunset

burn clouds into firework oblivion

before then blessing us with uncritical night.

An ode to the students

who discover more education

in climbing to the top of a mountain

and yelling a nonsense decree of passion

just to watch the echo

bounce from shore to shore

in cathartic reverberation.

The ones

for which our pill

is the only possible manner

of assigning purpose to purposeless assignments.

These are the ones

who must binge

cram for days before

the big exams

going whole nights without sleep

or food.

The ones slowly cracking under the increasing pressure of academia

spending more time questioning why they must complete their homework

instead of actually completing it.


This is an ode to my brothers and sisters

who stand in horror at the mold we must fit into

crafted by an unknown unshakable entity.

The ones who lost the appeal of cookie-cutter success

in exchange for a small understanding

of the way things really work.

The cogs that twisted off the machine

and now sit lotus-posed in the corner.

My fellow birds with broken wings

still expected to fly.

My fellow carpenters expected to build their estates

yet not given the proper tools to do so.

The ones of cursed cold clarities

perfectly capable of clutching

those fifteen minutes of dynasty

yet refrain from doing so due to

the immaculate futility of it all.


This is an ode to a drug induced rant

that no one will read

the one that I chose to write

instead of doing my **** homework in the library

like a compliant student.


This is an ode to the pressure-oriented procrastinators

that delay and yet again delay

their petty necessary obligations due to purposeless and exhausted motivation.

Swallowing substances to summon some sort of incentive

to fill in the bubbles

and cater to the Society they find so confusing

the ones who only under influence of synthesized chemicals

find reason to squeeze into that culturebox

that cascades down a bumpy man-made conveyor belt

branding a diploma onto your forehead

injecting an occupation into your veins

transforming your pupils to dollar bill signs

demanding you breed children

to do the same as you have

and you'll never be happy unless you do these things

right?


This is an ode to those who reside in the shadows

of our broken social system

and conjure up great conversations

pertaining to everything and nothing

that are as wonderful and necessary

as the prints of your fingers

caressing down a comfortable torso

just before the sun rises

the untouchable indescribable realizations of life and love

that are completely irrelevant in their eyes

but are entirely necessary for our survival.


This is an ode to the overwhelming feeling of love

greatly exacerbated by a pharmaceutical delight

whereupon connections with other humans

become both incredibly appealing and oddly magnetic

for a few electric hours.

The oxygenating satisfaction felt

the instance just after the small talk architecture masks

fall to the floor

and right before we put them back on.


This is an ode to the minutes before the amphetamine crash

where the world still doesn't make sense

but we briefly don't mind

because a few fleeting moments of energy and purpose

in this otherwise detestable confine of reality

are all you can really ask for

as you complete the assignments

then step outside

to smoke yet another cigarette (they're absolutely wonderful on Adderall try it some time it'll **** you slowly but then again what won't?)

only to witness our Sun

breeding fire clouds in the east

illuminating the Western Abyss into purple-gold spectral oblivion

and in consequence therefore

between puffs of a necessary cigarette

you grin to yourself in quiet victory.


This is an ode to misaligned priorities

to those who when walking to everimportant final examinations

think not of the curriculum beaten into their skulls

but take careful measure to step on every crack on the sidewalk

who stare not towards the future

but to the beautiful reflection reflecting back from the broken mirrors

that are the weary days and weary ways

of this curious existence.

To those when stepping into the absurd spotlight of Society

unapologetically proclaim:


"Though I must play your game,

you will never win."

Everything
Must Be In
Perfect Or-
der

Even Your
Anxiety Is
Prescribed

Deviation
Must Not
Be Tolera-
ted

Even Sta-
rvation Is
Accepted

The Dis-
order Is
Bad But
Wait Til
You See
How We
Treat It