May 2013
Just another night in the house with no ceiling,
staring up as I lay on my bed.
I look at the body next to me and there is no feeling.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m really dead.
Like a dragon he exhales and his poison floats.
He turns, gazes into my eyes.
He tells me “You’re beautiful. Pass me my coat.
In the front pocket there’s a surprise.”
Somehow my numb legs manage to move me
and I glide by the mess on the floor.
living in filth like this just doesn’t bother me,
because I’m not really alive any more.
As I arrive at my destination,
and throw back the thing he desires,
his slow movements fill me with massive frustration,
as my short patience already tires.
I already know what he’s got in store,
I can tell by the look on his face,
I want it, I need it, I’ve got to have more,
to get to my happiest place,
with a smile already creeping as he pulls out the bag,
on his torso he draws me a line,
he hands me the cigarette and I take a drag,
and I’m ready, so soon I’ll be fine.
My nose strokes the skin on his body, dark and strong,
and my nostrils feel the tingle they crave,
he smells clean and fresh, like he doesn’t belong,
in this cold, dark, emotionless cave.
Eyes flutter,
Hearts pound,
Beds bouncing,
Naughty sounds,
Voices laughing,
Music blaring,
Faces smiling,
Just not caring,
Lots of sighing,
Happy ending,
(for one at least)
One’s just pretending,
Music fading…Bodies tired,
Pulses fading…No longer wired,
Smile fading…Wearing off,
The meter is empty. Nothing left in the trough.
In place of the high there comes the regret,
The ‘Why do I do this?’ and getting upset,
The lack of attraction but the need to be attractive,
That keeps the life in this bedroom so active,
The pain disappears and I feel alive,
With a line or a pill, or two, three, four, five,
And the cycle begins again when I feel like I’m low,
I just lie back, close my eyes and roll in the snow.
Just another night in the house with no ceiling,
staring up as I lay on my bed.
I look at the body next to me and there is no feeling.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m really dead.
staring up as I lay on my bed.
I look at the body next to me and there is no feeling.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m really dead.
Like a dragon he exhales and his poison floats.
He turns, gazes into my eyes.
He tells me “You’re beautiful. Pass me my coat.
In the front pocket there’s a surprise.”
Somehow my numb legs manage to move me
and I glide by the mess on the floor.
living in filth like this just doesn’t bother me,
because I’m not really alive any more.
As I arrive at my destination,
and throw back the thing he desires,
his slow movements fill me with massive frustration,
as my short patience already tires.
I already know what he’s got in store,
I can tell by the look on his face,
I want it, I need it, I’ve got to have more,
to get to my happiest place,
with a smile already creeping as he pulls out the bag,
on his torso he draws me a line,
he hands me the cigarette and I take a drag,
and I’m ready, so soon I’ll be fine.
My nose strokes the skin on his body, dark and strong,
and my nostrils feel the tingle they crave,
he smells clean and fresh, like he doesn’t belong,
in this cold, dark, emotionless cave.
Eyes flutter,
Hearts pound,
Beds bouncing,
Naughty sounds,
Voices laughing,
Music blaring,
Faces smiling,
Just not caring,
Lots of sighing,
Happy ending,
(for one at least)
One’s just pretending,
Music fading…Bodies tired,
Pulses fading…No longer wired,
Smile fading…Wearing off,
The meter is empty. Nothing left in the trough.
In place of the high there comes the regret,
The ‘Why do I do this?’ and getting upset,
The lack of attraction but the need to be attractive,
That keeps the life in this bedroom so active,
The pain disappears and I feel alive,
With a line or a pill, or two, three, four, five,
And the cycle begins again when I feel like I’m low,
I just lie back, close my eyes and roll in the snow.
Just another night in the house with no ceiling,
staring up as I lay on my bed.
I look at the body next to me and there is no feeling.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m really dead.
Written at the age of 18.
