You wake me up

Yelling and screaming

Clawing scratching

Demanding satisfaction

So stubborn full of your own desires

Pull me from slumber by the roots of my hair

Searching frantically for the fix you cannot find

Violence is the sign of a true addict

Cursing and blaspheming you tear into my skin

Failing to find it you resort to torture

Once I relent you greedily ****** up your coveted prize

Leave me

My usefulness has been outlived

Your claim to it is only that it is yours

Never thinking of the risks or problems it brings

So addicted you can't survive a day without it

Constantly craving

You forget the world

Come back to the living it isn't too late

life is never what it seems to be, always reoccuring with a thought as put upon the length of arms that revolutionize this thought. . .for those that can be bought,
is day like today less then feeling of want to rot, because so simple as a breeze brought down your temperment to be pleased. . .caught in a storm, that has outlasted
longer then your heart to feel content and warm, to feel the essence of a breath among a group of bad breaths, in other words, to breath among a group of brothers and sisters
from whom you can gain so much. But life is never what it seems to be, instead you look yourself in the mirror pointing at me, you, fool. Glowing from ragging frustration,
the toll blows for you unsurpassable deflation, because it is not for your hand that grows for the motion, to pick which ******* **** you want to lotion. Spearing the reasons,
the ego is your hero, born to work zero, and trusted with such hand to uphold all by command. To twist on the ****, that opens your door, to circumstances i certainly care less
the **** to continue to explore. But with this slight little mention, please pay close attention because this song is a *****. At least to explain the message, my whole is a
whole that takes life time to experience and grow, and appreciate the things that stoop all the levels around me, no barrier, no door, just genuine life experience to bring me
to come to this point to explain to the world something within the self, that is described by astute persons, for whom these ideas carry on to fulfill an immense part of
something that is casually slipped in and never thought about because it is told within reason that humanity cannot be without such astute person's idealogy. For **** sake my
friend, if your have many common sense, think of the common thing that has driven you to come to the conclusion that you have come to about anything. Everything is absolute and
existent and is evoked through the means. . .from the time of your dissapating freedom, as kids, not as adults, because look at how adults are this days. They teach their kids,
and they let others teach their kids, but the kids never get the feeling of being free. I promiss you, that cry or emotion you have experienced due to lack of friendliness from a
neighboring ****, it is an instillement that sparks up many motions of your life to believe into bizarre things the world portrays. For myself, I find the starting point of my
when I first breathed my first sensible air, when I walked in my own two feet without guidance as to where my eyes were seeing. How can a mind be so tender, lost by the misconformed
train thogh after train thought. That is why I find schooling such a fascinating ruthless thing that can be broken into several fashions as to why is that case. But not even
reason to fashion an answer that I know will and is definetly can be viewed to abhold a societal dismark of "wF"is wrong with that guy's mind. He must be **** casing a storm to
bring an ideaology of thought or some **** religion, but that's what so funny to me. I find everything in life comedic, non concerning except at times if I feel similar to
someone adjacent because that is their essence in my prescence, and I feel the need to comfort it, to bring back the importance of that self. The part of life I find so comedic,
how bits and bits and everything with **** have all so many fascinating
things to learn from, the progression of one's mind never attains self worth in the world with something interfering. That something interfering for example, is me personally
writing what is can be taken as pointless and presenting my writing to you how I say I do. But did I say how I am presenting this writing, absolutely not. So brings the funny,
that school teaches the aspect of disfigurament of a person's essence. This thing is a complete oblivion to everything and anything, that because even though I did not specify
how I tone myself on this paper, there is the predicament to assume that I am very angry deranged person who but pokes charasmatically at something no one can grip, because he
is portraying me the image the way I was bred to see. But then it is so **** funny, you can also take my words describing
all that I intend to explain and stick them against me to simplify your circumstances as to the causitive feeling your experiencing, and maybe the confusion that I am creating
noting a significant point that I do write intentionally without any figurative wording, just simply talking about this to evoke a presence of an essence within you that is hindered,
by what type of **** everybody is wearing, where they are starring, who is ******* and adoring, and who's simply the **** because they don't fit in a deranged group, developed by
ego-centric level stingers, who but want either good for you, or it is the drive to profit from you everything. That is, words blah blah, can take stroll
on one day's role and make no complete sense, and all they did were live the sense of a tangled mind that fostered on what has been in some form, taught, over
what you can call a lively existence, considering how much traumatizing headaches this could cause, and resembled among a group of similar constituents with similar reasons
as to whatever the situation might be. I could point this out within one sentence, but it wouldn't hold any deeper understanding of this essence, so instead I decide with all
my reasoning and tremendous experience that even to some, even at this gritty expertisians who grease up the world to guess everything based on study and reasoning by other humans,
who believe all these ideas are shifters to the mind but always stem the relentless, functioning without any perspectives open to the idea that mold humans into one spatial and far better
so called community, which in all it's case has lost the essence to preserve the self without a ***** on the back. That ***** of course is the communal ****, that builds from a
trigger of words, then they teach the brain as if it is known how to be as a functioning unit. The amount doesn't matter, the amount that is thought brings hope, but the most
amount to the self is the function of you, like I feel I function amongst anyone because I have come to terms and realize what really important things I have learned from my life.
My life to some is gripping, only because it sounds unbelievable, but of that life I found the same driving forces that drive madness even today, and has been reaccuring for as
long as some form of expression has been. And in all humiliation of humanity, or as I consider it digression of being self around the bounds of comfortability, it has been
a grand experience to see many a people transgress from the point of my meeting them with a continuous contact to the point of now, and then, and future plausible. But then
and future plausible for me stand out as notions needless of evocations due to the fact that the self is a dwindling factor hung by a rope to swing the way the self first portrayed
to me, and then to the direction away from the first encountered mind. But in all, without senseless ignorance, I do understand these things are studied for a reason, for a reason
that is workable to be as they are for some variables do affect person's in many different way. That is why, the sense of one roof and too many aloof is but a big spoof. With
sensibility, how can forging something into your life help you to achieve greatness within self to portray it in a manner plausible. The only way is as a current flows, so do
the gulls.



where do you. . .come from. . .so many leagues unbeknownst among my dreams.
life is never what it seems. . .until i met your eyes.. . that built
my stongest implication, dire in desire to live a life inspired. . .
but then so is, to dream upon what tends on building motivation. . .
life is beautiful sensation. . .
from the first rainfall with you meeting outside spontaneous realm. . .
we fought the solemn wind to calm our cumbered spirits. . .taking flight,
fighting what might have been. . .semeless to even entertain. . .lost in
each others warmness. . .everything we built tended harmless.

now see how we have. . .related to each other's hearts. . .left the scrutinity
at obscurity prolonged on scale of mirror. . .where it has always belonged.
now it's just time darling
i promiss it wont be long until our roots bind the maximum strong.

from even across the plains, and mountain long trip stains. . .i feel
less pain. . .from what's the phrase non loose then gain, consorting time
absorbing each other's essence in rhyme.
the deepest of sensation of you. . .the meekest of me, makes me be the simple thing
that i've reconnected to . . .to realize, the sensation of you. . .from our first
encounter, i felt deep into your eyes. . .what agree's none behind with lies. . .
you evoked the deepest motion within my sphere of emotion not to betray myself within
this realm and dark frivolous potion. . .for my first set of emotion set on your tone behind
this potion. . .

i face you eye for an eye of every day until i die, but will ever will i die. . .not with you
never. . .darling angel, angel you are my expressive tone to call you so. . .nothing more
is the essense of you that you seem to implore, how busy life must be. . .we need feel free
to good ridance from this fee that life doesn't instill our good griefs beyond simple joys and beliefs. . .
for simply darling we are each other's heart beats, if it's simple smell of you
i will carry out my deeds in hell. . .beneath on hearth this earth, where all of us have been given
birth. . .but sent to spend what is driven by multipolluted cord, the time in blunt approach from
the thing that planted our roots. . .

how i feel you is simply too rich for some dirt to enrich you. . .i simply love and cherish
every bit of your essence, it has lifelong presence that even doing what they call
reminiscing, can't surpass living without missing what they have been reminiscing. . .
i cherish you beyond what little faith can teach about having bigger faith, when all my hopes
ride faithful slopes without elongated stops and rope bearing hopes. . .
my life i see to the extent to remorse only what some feel beyond scope of too openly. . .
but how can i retreat on what i can't stop to feel to protect you from, to their heads we are getting closely. . .
how in the scope of your first essence, can i give up to give way to ruin such pure essence. . .

i understand the world makes a feeling for such pure feeling is counted by blessings. . .
and in order for us to make it, that thought i feel senseless baking . . .constant roll of assorted
reasons for why we bleed to them treasons . . .for how can i express, how simple love doesn't
just digress, or something with time you invest. . .it's simply have been a joy of building
together a foundation for our nest. . .**** the rest. . .**** the pest. . .the world is the best
when sleepers are put to rest and the spark of commune are dwellers dwelling on these mischivers'
locked up chest. . .
to find out that darling. . .you simply are a joy to give me whole, that i'm not uninspired troll
reluctant to breath beside the one he placed his greed upon. . .or her, or it. . but all the essence
is closed and beat, by some known with ideals humanity can't consider too farfetched to bare to grit. . .
and sway to the essence that i hold in my glances. . .are as simple as these branded constructed norms
that most tend to manipulate and distort to one contorted form. . . .so all can bend into one socket for 365
degree view that most tend to agree. . .but never really see.

i know it's many there with this essense around the breeze of an aura, that simply are stranded too far apart by such horror.. .
to relent their essence with their prescence. . .to whom Barbarians find the essence is planted full on messes.
but how can we relate to such things darling. . .when the first glow of your essence showed me life full
of memories by the smile in your eyes, glowing beauty of any sort. . .i feel the world will someday . . .
take flight. . .in my way, but **** that. . .i'm to speak when my message is too simple, provoked only by the
thought, "protect the world its miser mother has been beaten". . .i can never relent, the message that is never
but to contradict what's life has not eaten. . .because of the times put to squares, living life, fostering a step back, into recluce. . .these biches wont even
say cause their too ****. . .to figure out that there's a worrior to stump them pleaded sheets out of wood. . .
i say this out for your sarcasm, elongated this song a bit to give you big ******. . .so when you repose, you
think nothing but what side are the pro's. . .and enter them into oblivion, grasping each by the billion, how
can i repose for i know, without one word it is and has been always come down to the special chosen million. . .

because my darling, i feel the miser that this essence in me you inspire, is up and target for no good. . .for
these pleaded fockers granted themselves unrelentless priveleges for centuries, changing diepers to giving
blood diamond marriages. . .riding on what they call prestine carriages. . .oh what,you don't recognize this
what the world has come to building from everybody's demise. . .feeding on high rise. . .splitting cots in the
rots, most alluded with plots and continued building upon the essence of you, keeping you stewed, brewing up a flu. . .
to this day when i met you. . .
will never cease your memory by only that it was circumstance. . .romance among thieves denying our chance to dance. . .
with one glance, their world just plopped a chance. . .for i know they know who im refering to, without a glance
i'm sure they feel my stance just to look **** eyed puking. . .**** blocking their world to rocking, while else where goes to foster under
this ugly monster. . .stooped on a porch ******* their air, without any underwear. . .haha must be due to how
much pull goes to their hair. . .how do i, they feel ****** diddlidy ****, what, is this person a human or a
restored frame of mind living. . .i can't be what's in my eyes to be believing, but i simply am retarted man. . .
a ******* rough psychological fighting bluff, to them i would. . .but trust me, how could i in my life, i
never could.. . .fall to false pretention, that life is a great invention, that my desire's are for simple
hires. . .for i know my life evolves around that which your first essence, darling, we built stronger everyday
to our future of what we call present. . .

life with you, i simply can't resent. . .but figure out what's best
to make what we don't need to make. . . because the essence uproots life's shrivel of what they call romances. . .
rooting upward from the seed we planted on the day people deside to bleed
all over the notion, that this emotion they conquered stems from shot of elixir handed down from the heavens by
some they call cupid fixer. . .relentless, they push through many dances. . .all so strained and constricted by many
glances, restricting their free essence to feel in whole their life is shot down by simple messes. . . .
but you, none taken, broken and mistaken. . .how can simple things be so. . .when you know my essence for you is
far greater then what one instance can remark for the whole, i feel simply. . .protect you from their hole and
bind you with my essence that strives in whole. . .even through tormenting lonely dances. . .when i saw the world an ugly form. . .
nowhere to want to run to, or feel
resentment.. . where's life going to go. . .if my essence in a whole feeds you. . .away to their
mysterious goal. . .i wouldn't have the patience to ***** their abnormal pretence, as if life is sweet with
such mysterious fowl. . .create little thought to create bigger picture, many aditions just create tensities
among those who bicker, loosing control each time only quicker. . .that's why it's never lesser to speak for the lesser
dresser, or the person they showed you, that looked like he ******* told you, but instead they made the mistake
to grow lower. . . cowering even bolder. . . what **** is the point of that. . .to say it none meeker as if its meant to outcast the bleeker
. . .i'm not that so. . .to scowl like fowl crackhead, loosing self reliance to gr

crackhead hours .
real crackhead hours.
  got my unemployment check ,
  1400 a week
.   Im rich biaattcchh ,  
  
  crackhead hours, dawning on me at 5:21am. my favorite hour.
    I sleep when the tide rolls on the beach and swallows up the baby tutrles.
  i sleep
when the last ****** sighs into a pillow  on the  edge of the abyss awaiting oblivion  like green smoke.
  i sleep
when it's too late for the dove to die.
i sleep when my eyes burn and the retinas dance around me.
i sleep when it's late,
   i sleep when it feels like it's the same as dreaming and not
breathing

bow tie and collars
nice pair of suspenders
buzzcut and braid
wanna get laid?
***-tuned world
labels all swirled
high level of confusion
doubt and frustration
all the stigma about
sexuality gender who you are

we tell you where you fit
labels aplenty
let me name many
****, ***, thot, *****
these and much much more
*****, *****, and traitor
see you all later
*******, druggie, and ****
nerd, geek, emo, goth
****, ******, loner
crackhead and stoner
athletic and pretty
simple or ****
labels aplenty
go on, take your pick

my friend said she’s
Quirky
Angsty
And different
She’s not she’s insecure
And I don’t mean any offence bu that statement
But she thinks the chains around her neck make her appeal to her abuser
And the fact that she’s never, really, properly drunk and yet pretends she’s wild and has lives lives she hasn’t
She says “ if you ever need someone to be a crackhead I’m right here”
She’s not
She’s insecure
She has sisters
I have brothers
And although we’re no longer defined by genders I think we are now
She wants to be like her younger sister
But she’s not popular like her
She lacks for charisma
But is sweet and kind
She thinks “cage the elephant” is indie music
And thinks listening to the strokes makes her cool
And that turning of capital letters on her phone somehow makes her “not like other girls”
She’s wrong
I don’t do any of that **** and I don’t pretend to be quirky, angsty, and different
And all the boys prefer me.
And yet I’m insecure
She should go back to fan-girling over Shakespeare
And writing books and poetry for fun
You’re not
Quirky
Angsty
And different you’re just insecure
Ok yeah good. ?  !
Got it perf.
Vibes. Cool,,, lel!’v

the other day I got stopped on the street
I was riding my bike if you like minding my business like I do every other day of the week

suddenly a sleek police cruiser rolled on by
seeing a young black man clearly I caught their eye
I got pulled over like a crackhead in a Chevy nova

I got scared I'll admit it but I kept my composure I'm glad I didn't make any stupid comments or sarcastic remarks which is what I'm known for

so all in all take this lesson from my story
people **** and appearances make all the difference between a night in jail or a free morning filled with glory

The posted photo
made on somones computer
looked like loneliness
dressed as wisdom
and begged you to believe the fallacy

It said
Don't fall in love when you're lonely
fall in love when you're ready

You will never learn how love works
if you save it

give it away
get hurt
give it away again

Love takes practice

And even if finding my love
looks like the crackhead's
needle in the haystack

Know that my love isn't *****
You won't get sick from my love
It is just that my love has been used

And that is all that love ever wanted anyway
was to be used

It is not some Star Wars action figure
Meant to never be opened
to maintain value

Imagine Luke Skywalker's
Anger at you upon tasting fresh air
Thinking
Have you seriously been keeping this from me?

Have you seriously been keeping this from me?

My love is pure
Been refined
by the filter of bodies
and coming back to me

My love is top shelf
but it is always free

OPEN LETTER TO THOSE WHO SAY GOOD RIDDANCE TO AMY WINEHOUSE

“Good, one less crackhead to deal with.”

“Drugo *****”

“She was a bad influence to all.”

“Why is everyone sad that she is dead?
She never cared about her own life
so why should we care now that she is dead???
She brought this on her self, oh well! “

“Good riddance you Mr. Ed lookin, Lady Gaga wanna be, pill poppin ******.....”

These sad, sad, comments
About a sad, sad life
Full of privilege and God-given gifts
Thrown away on a whim and a dime
Sadden me.

Dear friends,

You know me,
But I suppose, if you say good riddance to Amy Winehouse,
By that same logic, you should say, regarding me,
“Good, one less alcoholic driving our streets.”
If I died in my car accident more than 3 years ago.

Wait, what is that I hear?
You say I’m overreacting?
I’m different because I got the point?
That somehow I’m better than her because I “learned my lesson”?

*******.

I’m no better than Amy or anyone else in that same sinking boat,
**** up a creek without a paddle,
Just because I cleaned up my act.
I’m only luckier than them,
Because statistically only 5 percent
Make it out the other side,
Without backsliding.
The other 95 percent,
**** rolls downhill without stopping.
Ultimately, they only have 3 choices:
Jails, institutions, or death.
And I’ve already made two of them.

Now I have to keep in mind that
Unless you walked in an addict’s shoes,
Or the shoes of an addict’s loved ones,
It might be hard for you wrap your mind around a couple of paradoxes:

“How could she let that slide?  She had everything?”
“Oh, she could’ve quit anytime she wanted, so she chose to continue being a ******.”
“She was only a selfish *****   She didn’t give a **** about what she put her family or anyone else through.”

Let me enlighten you to the plight of the addict.

Yes, I will give that,
We have choice over that first drink, or drug if that’s what’s up.

But chasing that first high is like the search for the holy grail,
Or searching for that *** of gold at the end of the rainbow.
I kept following the path,
But the quest for the gold extended in perpetuity,
And my chalice remained empty.

I guess in a way you could say suffered
From battered wife or Stockholme Syndrome.
Drinking kidnapped me,
And held everything I was hostage,
I had everything, the job, the house, the love, the family,
The art, the poetry
But nothing became more important
Than the man who kidnapped me.

His needs, his wants became my own.
He spoke for me, he spoke through me.
I was him, and he was me,
And everything else bedamned.

I lied for him,
Stole for him,
Tricked my loved ones for him,

And in the increasingly rare moments of lucidity,
Interspersed between run-ins and blackouts and bottles of wine,
I tried to run,
But he would grab me when I made a break for it,
And drag me right back in.
While friends and loved ones who grabbed onto me with everything they had
Stood helplessly by as I willingly walked back to him.

A person has only so much strength,
So much will to resist.
And eventually, you only have enough reserves left to just exist.
It’s all you can do to stay alive,
If you can call it a life.

Yes, I was eventually one of the lucky 5 percent.
But there’s a word I operate by…”yet”.
Nothing is set in stone.
I could wind up right back where I started on that Monopoly board.
Don’t pass start, don’t collect 200 bucks.

So, until you have walked a mile in an addict’s shoes,
Or the shoes of an addict’s loved ones,
Judge not lest ye be judged.
Because the next hammer to fall just might be on you.

By the way, rest in peace, Amy Winehouse.

I'd rather be alone in the woods
Starving and dying

My brain buzzes and my fingers dance.
My eyes twitch and dart to make the world vibrate.
Too much coffee and my heart slows down to one,
long,
drawn-out
thuwump.
I feel the fibers in my muscles coil like a snake.
I'm all adrenaline and nothing to do.
No fight to be had,
no flight to be made,
no harm,
nor foul,
nor **** to be given.
Wires pulled taut,
I could strike out a tune,
make the bones dance
a crackhead jig.
Long breaths in staccato time,
high on the oh-2 painting my brain red.
I can feel my whiskers like an aura,
hovering over my skin,
every hair a bright,
electric
nerve.
Throb, pulse, twitch.
Writhe, dance, squirm.
Eyes-wide,
drink it in,
eat the lightwave whole.
Bits and bits and bits
stab,
pierce,
*****,
puncture,
penetrate,
explode
into image,
view,
vista,
site,
sight,
seen,
scene.
It's all the same.
All light
and heat
and motion,
no differentiation,
no line of demarcation,
no distinction,
no more,
no me.

One more cup,
and I'll be gone.

Rest In Peace Hello Poetry.

You used to be so young and fresh...

Now you're that crackhead ***** I see standing in front of the liquor store begging for change.

I remember when you were alluring and attractive and people used to enjoy your company...

Now we all back away from you like the loud, drunk, obnoxious lady at the holiday work party. You know what I mean, there's always one. You turned into that annoying ***** and i hate you for it.

Lastly...I remember all the nice things people used to say about you. Those things were true.

Now the only truth is that you ****, and are stubborn, and wont listen to reason. Just like my Ex....who ironically...I wish was R.I.P.

Sigh.
Shrug.

Like a celebrity of the slums

She moves from crackhead to ******* status

******* ***** for rocks

Armed with her glass and copper apparatus

Times come when she's broke

She's got no coke to smoke

So she has to make a selection

Pick a good vic with a thick wallet
and an *******

She spots her mark

He looks pretty easy

She struts over to his car lookin
cheap and ******

She gets in and he tells her what he wants her to do

They see a darkened alley and start to drive through

He hands her twenty bucks and she discretely hides it
then she grasps his zipper and slides it
down

She looks at his **** and starts to frown

She says "This is too big,it just wont fit"

He says "*****, I gave you my money,now work for it!"

Then he's got her hair in his hands and he's forcin it

She feels a split in her lip

She tastes the blood drip

He busts his nut

"****** ****!" he shouts

She wipes her mouth and quickly gets out

Sherie's back on the street and it herself
she blames

Her mascara runs as she stumbles in the rain
down the pull off lane

She tells herself," One more trick!"

Just more hit!

But the next car she climbs in
gets her throat slit.

For the past several years
I have been writing break-up poetry,
About my body
How I am ready to be finally rid of it
To totally forget about it
Find a newer better one
How I wish I could have fixed it
How I tried,
How I’m trying to cut it out of my life
Starve it out of my garden, like a ****

I have been writing sad poetry about my body
About how it is dying
And dead
How it is broken
Had all the stuffing ripped out of it
Like a crackhead’s couch
Sitting out in the yard,
Free for the taking, but wet from the rain

And I have written this poetry for too long
I have spent too much time,
Breaking up with, feeling guilty over
And sad about
My body
And maybe that won’t change
Maybe I will always wish it to be different
But maybe I can learn to love it too
So maybe I should write for it some love poetry
For The way it stands effortless, a mechanical marvel in a stiff breeze
A wonder of motion, a running straining lifting machine
That does things,
Even the most sophisticated of machines, have yet to replicate
And how the pink mush between the ears
Lights the eyes like Christmas
And turns the body,
This body, this body that I hate, this body that I need
How it turns the body,
Into me

What do u know of loss?
W ur ******* Nirvanna shirts
Did u ever love a crackhead
Or cry toiletless room?.

What do u know w ur dull razors
Colred hair, tapered pants
Nothing. U only imagine kisses
Against ***** lips on nov 1st

1.

I’m told it’s a “living thing”, a given thing and, moreover, is a terrible thing to lose. ‘Nuff said, ‘kay?

2.

What was she doing at the reception? Why was she so envious of his riches? How many drinks under her belt since she started on that glass of wine she‘s holding in her hand right now? So possessive.

I always seem to run into her at the drug store. I wonder what kind of medication she takes. Some incredibly strange desire to know this floats through my ghost. Some generic anti- depressant or maybe something stronger, along the lines of thorazine or haldol. A bizarre sense of arousal consumes me as I fantasize about popping those pills with her. I don’t care what kind they are…if they cure what ails her then they’ll probably take care of what’s wrong with me.

I remember…it was just a week or two ago. Once again I bumped into her at the drug store. She was looking good. Real good. The prospect of reading the labels on her medicine bottles was overpowering, finally knowing the names of the many prescriptions she had filled once every month.

My plan was thwarted, however, when she ordered a soda. I never did find out those drug names, but I learned something which I felt could very possibly change the odds of she and I hooking up. And that is this: her favorite flavor is cherry red.

I don’t think she has a boyfriend, but there is this guy who is always coming around for no real reason. He seems to think that he’s her old man. I often pretend that I believe it as well. One night the three of us went to a karaoke bar. I got just drunk enough not to care if I made a fool of myself having fun. The other two in our party had no problem nominating me for the opening act.

I walked behind the booth and introduced myself to the DJ.

“Yo, yo,” he said, after I told him my name and shook his hand. “I’m DJ Crackhead. Steady chillin’ and ill feelin’, I got the wax and the tracks if you got the crack, Jack. Now get off my back ‘less you got somethin’ you want to karaoke to.”

“Actually, I do have a request. Do you see that hot little red head in the ******* tank top? The one sitting next to the pimply faced weasel? Well, I’m wantin’ that dame for my own and I need to lose him. I need to shout out respect to my ***** and be dissing this dweeb at the same time. Can you play some Stones? I’m thinking ‘Satisfaction’ or maybe ‘Get Off Of My Cloud’?”

“Gee, G! I can float them joints easier than the pope be funny dressed. ‘Get Off Of My Cloud’, baby?”

“Only seems fitting. Let’s do this, Rider!”

As the short, sharp beats of the song bring down the house, to thunderous applause I strutted to the microphone. “People!!! All 6 of you! That’s not counting the bar tender or the wait staff, so we can’t really count this as the largest crowd we’ve ever had attend one of our shows. But I’m gonna tear the rood off this sucka’ with a brutal Rolling Stones tune I’m gonna send out to my gal’s old man, Jimmy!”

I wailed the hell out of that song. Jagger would have been proud of me, that’s for sure. He would have invited me back to the limo to maybe mainline a little smack with him. Everyone in that place was getting into it, but not Jimmy. Oh no, not Mister Jimmy. You could tell he was getting into the song itself, but not the singer.

As the song faded out I returned to our table, sweat dripping off of me like raindrops that fell into her wine glass. Wiping myself with a napkin, I turned to her and asked, “Did you like that one, babe? Did that spectacle turn you on?”

She replied, “O God, yeah! Yeah on both counts!” She leaned towards me and whispered in my ear, “You know, if we could ditch Jimmy I would sure be up for some kink-a-dee-kink. All the time you sang about “not hanging around” and how “two’s a crowd” on your cloud, I could only think of this leach. You’ve got to help me, sweetheart, you’ve just GOTTA!”

“I’ll do what I can,” I said quietly, then turned to Jimmy. “ Well Ol’ Jimmy, Ol’ Jimmy “ Boy, what did you think?”

He looked me square in the eye. I knew he meant business. You could tell by the squint in his eyes. He blinked once and said one word…”Dead”.

3.

Did we really count to one hundred? Why were we counting and perhaps even more important, WHAT were we counting? Why did the object being counted need to be counted to? Was 100 the exact count? Could we count further than 100? Did we have to keep counting even if there are only 79 units in total? Can you explain? I can’t.

4.

You got a big mouth. You know that’s an undisputed fact. When it comes to informing the town about the fine details of my alcohol problem…well that‘s where I draw the line. You are one hypocritical, self-serving, self-righteous biddy who doesn’t know when to shut up.

Everyone knows I’ve been drinking and foolin’ around. The Lord knows I’m sinning and God knows sinning ain’t right. But we’re gonna chat it up tonight, and if you want to see a change of attitude and tone, well I suggest that you stick a sock in it.

5.

Chewing on a piece of grass.
Walking down the road.
Wishing on a falling star.
Waiting on the early train.
Aging with time
Alligator lizards in the air…

Interlude.

All is quiet, save the ringing in the ears. The darkness envelopes me completely, I’m lying in it’s arms. Insatiable demands we’ll make against the wisdom of the Overlords. Who see it through those eyes that criticize all they don’t understand. They don’t understand me or you. You or me.

6.

Sometimes I just like to sit back and take in a good nostril or two of pungeant skunk stank. Years have come and years have gone but one thing has remained…I ain’t a-offended o’ the smell o’ Pepe LePew.

I don’t know but that my opinion might change if one o’ them little rascals were to saunter up to me and spray his stench on my leg. The buck will probably stop there.

But anymore that stuff just reminds me of the killer bud.

7.

The wolves ain’t the only critters howlin’ at the moon tonight.

That’s what she told me as inspiration swirled down the drainage ditch into the vat of apathy.

“Jump in, Jim, let’s go for a swim.”

She took off her clothes and I couldn’t help but stare.

I come from a place
you had to hustle for a date,
words were chosen not for
their rhyming
but for survival,

in this land a kid had to be a man
from ten, had to learn words to keep
him breathing,
and his family was a crackhead mom, a different
dad for all ten
of us

A diaper , you learned to steal for your
baby sister and put it on her, mom was gone dads all
wherever, hustle was taught young,
because we had to eat.

So we all ran for the man. Made a buck
and a good shiny pair of Nikes.
fed  our siblings and ran from the enemies.
Who were everywhere.

Is that America. We are Free?
Are the young condemned by
survival of the fittest?
Give me a break, politicians
corrupt as the ministers
who feel the need to get rich and feel the children up.

We learned young to cook rice and a rock.
Took what we took to get by. And were took also,
into a hopelessness, of society .

I got my first gun at thirteen. A man I thought it made of me.
Most likely , I will die before twenty.
So, who then will change the diapers?

5 am driving through the hood fearlessly
Because sitting in my passenger is a huge black man up to no good
Newports in my hair
Graffitti around these parts looks better
Than Wynwood
As the sun rises
Hitting all the homeless in the face
Sleeping on the sidewalks
I see a man stretching his arms,
As he unravels his cuccoon
Ready to fly through another day
Newport man points at a woman walking past,
Her grey baggy pants sloping
Her legs crisscrossing like shes cutting something up as she walks
But really she's just on crack
He told me that he knew her when she was fat
She looks towards a man down the road
And waves a flirty hand
He follows her home
Earlier in the night i see a skinny white girl
Walking around the club
I thought she was brave
For being down here alone
A couple of hours later i see her again
Waving an SUV down
They drove past and i saw her face crumple
The way gravel does
The car stops at a light
on the way towards her money
Newport man flags her down
She begs for a cigarette
But all she got was distraction
"Where are you from?"
Boston.
Her sweatshirt said so
I have a customer waiting for me,
I have to go
Newport man asks "what are you selling?"
She turns away and goes.
Another crackhead rolls up next to
The club parking
With a bike he stole from south beach
I know this because Newport man knows
Shirtless underneath a neon flimsy vest
That he stole from a valet stand
Smiling through gums at the drunk *****
Rolling past
Attempting to pretend
That he is the parking pass
Anything for some spare change
Anything for crack
And last but not least but not first is me
I just wanted some ****
Newport man said if i gave him a lap
Dance he would buy me some green
Instead the ***** gets skimped for a ten piece
When he paid twenty
And because my lap dance
Didnt have enough grinding
He didnt give it to me
And this is the general tone
Of Overtown.....
Addictions arent selective
by race, religion, creed.
All those people i met are just like me.

This spoken word.
I want to talk.
Folks'll put you
In a box.
It has six sides.
There's lots in stock.
Works just like a
Broken clock.
It fits in life
Two times a day.
Once the cradle.
Once the grave.
Then they'll fix
A label, TOO.
Once it's on it

STICKS LIKE GLUE.

There's a man
Down on the street.
Not someone you'd
Want to meet.
Drinks his meals
So he won't eat.
Shuffles 'round
Sits on the curb.
He's a "mumbler".
He's "disturbed".
Talks to self
Because he's shunned.
Got a label...

He's a ***.

There's a woman
Has no phone.
Has twenty cats
'Coz she's alone.
She talks to them
When in the mood.
She's so poor
She eats their food.
Yup. She has an
Attitude.
Has no husband
Who'd get paid.
On HER there are
Labels laid...

She's a SPINSTER.
An OLD MAID.

There's a teen
Who is arrested.
He's a menace.
It's attested.
Nope. He's not
Very nice.
He is into drugs & vice.
Is this "DELINQUENT"
Past retrieval?
Is he past knowing
'Coz he's evil?

Tie die. Peace sign.
Kinda trippy.
He's a "LONGHAIR"
He's a "HIPPIE".

Is she lovely?
Or "STUCK UP"
He's a "DOG"
The laughter's ****.

[chorus]
They aren't "NORMAL".
They're "unstable".
Slap 'em with a
POST-IT LABEL.

There's a girl
Who eats her pain.
Downs her food
Unrestrained.
She's bulimic
So she's "CRAZY"
She may be "FAT"
So she is "LAZY"
Another on the
"crazy" list...
His anger's inward,
He's depressed.
He may drink
So he's a "******".
Here's another label...

"LOSER"

Then there's the boy
Who lashes out.
Beats kids up.
He's a lout.
He is wild and
He is wooly.
He is labeled as a
"BULLY".
There's another
Kid who's shy.
So he gets the
Blackened eye.
He is "sraight"
He don't get high.
Nose in book,
He goes unheard.
What's his label?

He's a "NERD".

[chorus]

There's a one
We ALL know's BAD.
She was *****
By her own dad.
At age thirteen
She's "knocked up".
We ALL know her...

She's a "****".

There's a man
Who wears tattoos.
Labels he will never lose.
"WHITE TRASH" 'cuz
He owns a bike.
She likes women.
She's a "****".
She smokes fatties
So she's a "stoner"
He's just "weird"
'Coz he's a loner.
He loves men,
So he's a "***"
She loves him
So she's a "hag"
How'd YOU like
That odious tag?
Let's all do
The Label Rag!
Don't it make the
Tongues just wag?
It's enough to
MAKE YA GAG.

[chorus]

Tribal nation?
I'll be brief.
He's an "Indian"
Call him "Chief"
Does it make
White egos bigger
To call a black man
"BOY" or ******"?
Is that wisdom
Do ya figger?
Whatcha think
THAT'S gonna trigger?
Will the term "*****"
Do the trick?
How 'bout "******"?
How 'bout "****"?
How 'bout "****"?
That ***** Jew.
Well.
Let's take a look at YOU.

Look in the mirror.
The view is free.
Look in there!
What do you see?
Do you see yourself...

Or ME?

Is there smoke?
Are you deceived?
What's th label
You've received?


Look out dere!
HERE COME DA JUDGE!
10 feet tall & has a
GRUDGE!
And since we're getting
Really formal
Got another label.
NORMAL.
You judge someone
With capital blocks
Cuz you can't read
A CEREAL BOX?
Is prejudice the
Meal you eat?
Label on that
And it ain't WHEAT.

[chorus]

Yes. I'm white.
And I am sixty.
I ain't young. I ain't ****.
But I'm a POET
I can TALK.
I have been
Around th block.
You don't like it
You can WALK.
YOU WON'T PUT
ME IN A BOX.
I wasn't a "******".
I wasn't a "tweeker".
Was a "CRACKHEAD".
A ******* seeker.
Finally got it in my head.
There's another label.

That is DEAD.

Yeah. I'm a Christian.
"Jesus Freak"
I'm not ashamed
Because I seek!
Believe'n sure don't
Make me WEAK.

I'M DONE WITH
THE DISSIN' AND
THE TRASHIN'!
Got a concept called

COMPASSION!

Yeah. I know it's
Not in fashion...
But this no joke.
It's not a GAME.
I got a label...

It's my NAME.

I got another
Worth the seeing.
Another "label"...

HUMAN BEING.

Yeah. I'll preach.
I'm gonna shout.

My name is

CATHERINE.

Over. OUT.


SøułSurvivør
(C) 6/13/2017

come  into the day
together and sing with me the song of innocence
of men and women, all sexes
all varieties, all societies ,  see the miracle of
all the diversity
being sung, into the highest dales-
into the concrete streets,
into the uneducation;
among every nation a seed
sown by words and understanding;
whether a poem or painting or politician draws it up,
or a tot calling for us to stop the insanity,
crying this baby does to a fallen angel
or crackhead seeing damnation...
or Jesus himself or Allah,
or me or another MLK,
let us all gather into the woods and see the vastness of the future
when we all are coloring books with oils
or ink or feelings: our blood
no longer spilling-
us

The truest love i have been witness to
is heartbreaking, so destitute,
but, resonates still in my head,
And happened just last week.

In a trash filled trailer
on a trash filled street,
broken windows no electric,
a crackhead I knew
gave his last hit,
to his new best friend.

Great, I think she wants back in my life
She walked out when we possibly had a future maybe with two kids a happy husband and wife
I'm still bearing wounds from our last encounter
It's ludicrous what I had to go through with this *****
Oh wait I shouldn't say that even though she ripped my heart into halves and almost flatlined me
So even though I swore I wouldn't do any more rhymes about her I'm going out of my solace to lay my feelings to rest like a hydraulic mattress
I'm glad this has happened in a cosmic sort of way because no matter how hard it became alive I stayed to prove not to just to her but myself that you can survive heartbreak of that density those few weeks felt like a nomadic crackhead wandering the centuries yet it interests me that she expects me to say something to her first which is why I'm putting all of my problems and angst into this verse
I'm open to being friends again I'm all for that because what happened shouldn'tve happened at all but don't you dare play with my heart again because of you do I'll burn you like a succubusses ***** after an STD

Chipped
They ask us to trust them when we get the anti CCP Virus jab
So we are safe and sound and protected from their virus
But upon reading multiple reports and articles
I’m scared fecking shitless about being jabbed up
I can die in a dozen horror film ways too gory to say
A really bad gig that many innocents took one way trip
With so many years to live now stolen with their lives
This is wrong and not right you must agree?
What do I believe? Is the CCP Virus made to **** us?
Rid the world of 7 billion people so only 500 million survive
Of course this is ******* from a badly scripted B-Movie
But where did they get their idea from a **** crackhead?
It’s obvious something is wrong and we are now under control
Big Brother lived out his film script 1984 style and here we are
Lockdowns and vaccines and troops on the street
It will get much much worse when we are forcibly chipped…

out of the corner of my eyes
when you don't notice
seen you be nice to homeless
men give a dollar to a crackhead
I bless
that you
are
blessed
goodness out
angel within
no doubts
I just love
you.

I never for once thought that I'd take writing seriously. It was just one of those passing things I did when I was in fourth grade (and it was journalism, even). Short stories became a breather in high school but somehow that stopped too with the revival only happening towards my end in college.

Ever since then my life has been in a kind of complicated knot. It's hard to get out of but a lot harder to understand. There are days when I like what I've written and sometimes I just want to burn my notebook with all the poetry I made. Every single time you get this brilliant, excitable idea come to you from nowhere, your blood springs up, you sweat the small stuff, your fingers itch—that kind of nonsense. But the writing part is a hell's worth of tricky. You see I'd start writing then stop midway because my brain shuts down in the best times. Kind of like a sprain during a running momentum. I feel terrible because I can't move on from that sort of limbo. And then I swear at myself for being too stupid and incompetent—it's insane. It can't be undone, it's somehow part of my process now. The worst thing is I get even more riled up if I don't get to write down that idea completely. The immense relief I feel when I finish a story or poem is unimaginable. It's comparable to having a cavity lifted out of your sore mouth. You can sleep better, do things better. Ball of stress but it comes from your thoughts.

Now that I am too invested in writing, there is only the fact that I must continue this no matter what kind of life I lead. I might become a diplomat or a crackhead (who knows life is fickle) but I think I need to write or I'll be doomed in my world of ideas. Writing is the closest I can get to a relationship lol and I humor myself in the silliness of it all. Honestly, I feel empty not doing it everyday but at the same time it gnaws on my biggest self-doubts. You know you're in too deep when it becomes a reason for being depressed as it is your hope in the ******* days. It has been with me in my extreme highs and lows and in times when I don't think anything is important.

All my entries here in HP are truly my babies. Which I also call out on my bad moods and frequently tell myself that they are utter crap. I'd work so hard to expunge them out of my system but if people tell me they're as hopeless as a Thomas Harris fiction then I don't mind, I plan on getting rejected anyway just so I can take writing even more seriously.

Though I realized from all of this that writing is not for the blind optimist or the stubborn pessimist. I'm more of a realist. Poetry, literature do not go with people who fool themselves with lies just to be happy. Luckily, I am not the sort of person who will compromise my thinking just so I could smile like a marionette. With writing, I realized that some of my beliefs were illusions that we tell ourselves. And I left them because I'd be lying to myself. This is probably why I've been writing darker material. Nobody wants to talk about them because they leave a bad taste in the mouth, so why not, right?

I've come to believe that our existence feeds on dark and light. (That yin and yang stuff is starting to make sense.) People thrive on two ends to grow and being happy all your life is completely overrated. Pain, sadness and death are some of the things I embraced thanks to writing. Hey, we can't have everything, it's better to just tolerate the different sides. If you deny pain, you will never understand the pain of others and how will you ever learn compassion? And so on. Writing has taught me that crap is crap until you change your perception and acceptance of things.

So all in all in this annoyingly long rant, I've exposed how I'm a self-absorbed little ****. Sorting things out has been my top priority since everything (except writing) became boring as **** to me. Not even food could cheer me up and that is a big sign that things have gone the wrong way. My mom complains that I've been sleeping too much, been extremely lazy but I saved her the bother of asking incessant questions because my depression is too hard to explain. Just the other day, I thought of doing extreme sports hoping the adrenaline rush could kick me out of the slump. But I also thought about getting bored with them so nahhh.

Where did my life go?
I asked as I watched the sunrise
from eyes in my bleeding head,
as I knew not where I was
but more where I'd been.

I didn't know the truck stop bench
that I awoke a bleeding mess on
with only a dry whisky tongue
to whisper what the ****.

I didnt know the cracks in my phone
came likely from a crackhead's home
where I reached the top of the ski hill
only to tumble down
with no boots on.

I didn't know my deep head wound
came while I came unglued
as I fought for a life I guess I knew
would come to this
because this is how I've been.

Where did my life go?
I feel it safe and waiting for me.
Only I can reach it,
it answers just to me.

Searching me down
looking for the prada
thinking every chav is selling narcotta

I  am a university man I said
well you resemble a local crackhead
said the rude fed
Whats with those meds
I went chemist for my mum
Do you think we're dumb?
tell us the truth son
those drugs are full your addiction
and that bike do you have permission?
no its my sisters she's at college
she recently left
that's technically thief