Slow Chiva

Slow Cheetah come before my forest, looks like it's on today.
Slow Cheetah come, it's so euphoric, no matter what they say.
-rhcp

I know that I've gotten eleven people to try heroin for the first time.
But I can't remember how many people I've fucked.
There's so much wrong about that.

But It's like I'm looking for companionship, or revenge.
I'm so methodical about it, it's definatly vindictive, regardless of intent.

Do I want the whole world to understand?
or Do I want the whole world to burn?

It's at least a little of both.

My sights are on this girl who, after I asked her to slow down on the pain killers, looked down her nose at me and said "i don't get addicted"
heh...heh.

I want her to burn, at least.

Not a New Thought

It feels like I'll never get over this. I'm considering methadone now.
But first, I'm going to ask my mother if she'll hold my money. All of my money, every week, every paycheck.
That way I just won't be able to buy dope.
In the past, when I didn't have money, I stole and sold and stole and sold and stole and sold, dvds and instruments and jewelry and tvs and toasters and washing machines and rims and cds and what have you.
But I believe I'm past that, at this point it's just the money burning holes in my wallet that leads me, without fail, back to dealer after dealer.
I hate to put that burden on my mom, and I hate to be 24 and having to be babied like that, but I don't know what else to do.
I don't want to have to be on methadone for years, but if this doesn't work, that's what I'm doing.

And if methadone doesn't work, I'm killing myself.

My dream, since 2nd grade was to play music for a living.
Two years ago I sold my drumset.
Three years ago, me and my cousin (my singer) decided that if we couldn't make a living playing music, we'd pick up the second most rock n' roll career. We'd be drug dealers.
I've realized that I can't be a dealer, I just end up turning my profit into free heroin, or pain killers.

And I've said, countless times, that the one thing I fear in life is failure. Is abandoning my dreams for a middle of the road 9 to 5 career as a caffeine team player.
And if that ever happened, I've said countless times, I'd kill myself.

So what I'm saying is, if I can't get off heroin, and If I can't rebuild a drumset, and move out of this shithole that i've spent 18 years of my life in, and back to what feels like home (on a stage, and in Jersey), then I'm going to kill myself.

Method of self conclusion? Probably overdose, I've heard that a heroin overdose is very painful. Although my own experiences tell me otherwise.

Do a bag an hour for a day or two, until two or three bundles are gone, and then lay down on my back and dream for a few more hours.
If you do too much at once, you get sick, and that's painful, better to space them out.

I'm sorry this is such a horrid entry. But I mean it with my whole heart.

But no one needs to rush around trying to hunt me down and get me committed, this is all a long way off. I assure you there will be plenty of entries talking about suicide if I get that far.

I'm still set on getting back to signing autographs and fucking groupies and hearing the crowd applaud and clap to the beat and sing along.

I'm still set on proving every nay-sayer wrong, and I'm still set on coming back to this shit hole in a Lamborghini, draped in Gucci and Dior, and pulling up beside those old bullys and rednecks, turning down the Bose, while 23's keep spinning, and telling wes cheatem's girlfriend to get in.

Am I in this business for the wrong reasons?

Yes and No, I'd be happy just being able to pay the bills playing in a cover band doing three shows a week in some dive bar, driving a Volkswagen van, draped in the latest fur coat and Levis I found in a thrift store on south street, with a pretty bitty from New Jersey to call my own.

But I'm worried that I won't even be able to make it that far, and if that ends up being out of my reach, if I end up settling for a box spring in a trap house, or a split level in a suburb, working at a Verizon call center, trying to raise two and a half bad ass kids and fighting with a wife that I ended up marrying because she was a good cook, I promise I'll kill myself,

and just become a different kind of statistic.

Deja Vu

Yesterday, I was down to two more lines of heroin.

And the day before yesterday, I decided that "this gram, is the last time I'm ever going to do any opiate", with so much conviction that I was certain I was done.

I was high when I decided that, obviously.

Yesterday, I decided to do all I had left, all at once, to go out with a bang.

Yesterday, I wrote a love letter, a grand finale, a goodbye, to heroin.

And then I spent the entire day happy, working on my drums, drinking white russians with my dad (his addiction), laughing and joking and smiling.

And today, I woke up slowly, covered in aches and pains, and began scraping all the residue off my mirror, and out of my bags, with 100 dollars in my pocket.

writing has gotten old, easy, effortless even.

"if i could tear you from the ceiling, and guarantee a source divine, rid you of posession fleeting, and remain your funny valentine" --placebo

what is there to say that I haven't said before?
boredom, anexiety, dreams.
Last night I had a dream where my LITTLE COUSIN came up to me with what looked like a qp of heroin.
Yeah, a lot.
And he cut me out a line, I did it, and then proceeded to work on my drums, which I promptly cracked, and then threw across the room.
Yeah, the wraps the past few days up pretty well.

I haven't messed up anything yet, but I've definatly been in the middle of a tug-of-war, and I've been on both teams.

"GET HIGH! GET HIGH! IN THREE HOURS YOU COULD BE WARM AND FUZZY AND HAPPY!"

And the other half is saying

"Yeah, and then in 5 hours you'll be humdrum, emotionless, and broke for the next 4 days."

But I've made it over half the week without spending my check on dope, which is impressive.

I have too many things I have to spend money on, probably 1800 more dollars before I have a complete, bad ass drumset.
200 for the plane ticket to nyc, and at least 200 more for the week. But probably more like 400.
and of course, i have two nails in my tire.

I smoke pot, because it makes me sit in one place and do nothing.

Which is better then standing up.

Stand up.
Shoes.
Cell Phone.
Car.
90 dollar Vacation.

easy, appealing, in every way.
And it would give me something to do in the cold light of morning.

...as your skin starts to scratch and wave yesterdays action goodbye...forget past indescritions and stolen posessions, you're high...
Placebo, The Cold Light of Morning.

Wow, Placebo's definatly a trigger for me.
Blood Pressure rises, mind begins racing.
Ted Leo does the same for me, only worse, Ted Leo was our copping-sound-track when money and drugs were plentiful, before they become a burden, when it was fun.
So, naturally, it always throws me back to spring garden and 13th, twiddling our thumbs waiting for the dealer we had at the time, who was much less then punctual, we'd wait hours sometimes, listening to Ted Leo's "Shake the Sheets" album on repeat.

I feel like I shouldn't use this as much as a diary as much as a wall of my better work.
Appearence is important, and looking emaculate is never a bad thing.

Wax emmaculate, wane upset,
put down premonitions and past regrets.
And believe me, you haven't seen, anything yet.
Keep it real like politics and please put on your sunday best.

How much would they pay
so they could say
they've seen a relapse first hand?
Would we come out ahead?
Mix black tar with the red,
and applaude, like I was a fan.

Methadone then
pneumonia and
overdose..again
It can be the last time
if you like to pretend.

Stamps by mail.
brown stones wrapped in paper.
tin foil straws,
cotton swabs, spoons, or razors
lighters and belts
hoods, scams, cops and waiting,
loans, deals, and hours
spent crying and shaking.

How many times have we woken up on bathroom floors?
Can anyone begin to count?
How many times have we said just once more?
as the all too familiar anexiety mounts.


i am sick sick sick of writing about the same old same old.
I can divide all my writting in the past two years into three catagories.

1. Drugs, Fiending, and Withdrawal:

first one drip
then another drip
drip by drip i'm drowning in front of all these kids
making the illusion of comfort out of vinegar and piss.
tic,
the second hand pauses for an minute,
an hour,
all the while frozen on the floor around this game of kings
toc,
the second hand jumps and turns my stomach sour
my 40's empty, the blunts gone, and my heroin is beconing me.
this is how i used to party.

2. Girls, Girls, and other Girls.

She's like fire.
A lighter.
A super star, not the sun, just a little bit brighter.
You can't catch, control, try, tame or tie her.
She's not hanging with the zodiacs, Ursa major or minor.
They look up to her, yeah, she's a little bit higher.
So I'd just be happy to burn out beside her.

3. Dance, Jive, and bebop nonsense.

So I'm watching the clock, droppin crumbs, drinking coffee
keep the click track buried beneath the tracks that my heart leave.
it's a fact that I hardly, think i'm speaking honestly
but rinse and wash the beat, tumble dry, I repeat,
there's so many rhymes i can't find the time, for intentions to shine when i speak.
(Do you see me? too true to believe me, reread please, for clues to the meaning. )


and there's so much, i usually write at least one semi hot little shit a day, and they're spread out over three websites, and all over my computer, and in my phone, and on paycheck stubs, reciepts, knapkins
"a thousand clever lines, unread on clever knapkins"
-tbs

that line, in itself, is enough to ensure my taking back sunday fan status until the end of time, I can relate to that so much that it's insane, and sorta makes me happy.

the idea of consolidating it all is overwhelming. I'm going to be emily dickinson, one day, I'll die of old age, or overdose, or from whatever, and they'll go through all of my things, and find page after page after page after page after page of poems and prose and rants and rambles and bragging and bebop and shake-your-ass-chit-chat and everything else, and then, i'll be published.

but fact of the matter is, the longer i spend writting online, the longer i'm tied to my computer and not watching the sun rise, or worse...making calls on my phone to wake up a cat i know who's got that brown all day.
It's 6:30, which pretty much makes it too late to go today, considering I have work tonight.
but rationalization is a junkies strong suit, we've practiced it alot.

tug-a-war

I'm that cynical wit,
with quick lyrical tricks
and you'd flip
if i told you just how bad it can get.
Sell all your shit, save up for a fix,
and six hours later you're already sick
So hit the streets, thrown back in the mix
Opiate's no joke, pay attention kids,

Hm...I tried to write in my other diary, but it ended up being page after page of me trying to rationalize chasing heroin.

And, out of all my...um...blogs...this one seems the most fitting for that kindof mood.

Fiending, yes.

Since I've moved back home, off the streets, away from Philadelphia, I've pretty much spent every pay check I've had to get high.

True, I'm not pawning my things or stealing or dealing anymore, but I'm still using regularly, my last fix, yesterday, 4 percocets.

My friends down here say "you just took FOUR percs?? you're a beast!"
And my friends in Philadelphia say "FOUR percs gets you high now?!?!"
The last time I used pills up north, 16 would keep me from getting sick, and there was probably 6 months after that where I didn't even bother with them because a half a gram of heroin was barely doing the job, that would have been somewhere along the lines of 40 percocets, at least.

So today? I have 160 SPARE dollars, that i reeeeally should save.

any of you know how much teeth grinding that can produce?

and i'm trying. there's no telling if i'll snap in the next few hours though, and jump up from my computer, shave, brush my hair, (the fact that i'd take the time to shave is proof that i'm doing better) and sneak out of the house, get in my car, and drive to atlanta, a six hour round trip, on 4 tires and two nails.

yeah...that's holding me back too, i have two nails in my back drivers side tire. That didn't stop me last week, I made it there and back with no problem.

so really...the only thing holding me back is the fact that everyone would know i was using, my pupils would be pin pricks, my eyes would be outlined with shadows, and i wouldn't sleep, except for nods, for days.

And then I'd come down sometime around tuesday, when I would be miserable for two days, until my next pay check.

Thank God I don't get sick anymore, but getting past withdrawal is, i've found, the easy part.

I don't revise, although I do re-read my entries, thank you for the compliment victoria, my crush on your writing is why i started this um...blog.

I've been on opendiary.com for so long that I don't really like the word blog.
When myspace started calling shit blog, i was like....ewww, such a gross word.
and i stick by it.
This, although it's on "blogger", is not a blog.
I don't give a shit what you all say..it's a diary.
An Addiction Documentation, in an undisclosed location. A part time occupation, in between my heroin vacations.
mmm, that boy be fly as a muthafucka wit dem rhymes.
Junkylife shut down, although that would have been my prefered site.
I've found that this one's alot better. And if I had highspeed internet here, I'd transfer all of my (good) writing over to this site, because, jesus, there's alot of it.
arrogance.

I've finally learned that Vanity really is a vice.

Vanity is Pride, and Pride is Arrogance, and Arrogance will get you into all sorts of shit that you'll discover is too deep for you.

yeah, i said it.

"nah, that won't happen to me, i'm smarter then that"

if i had a time machine, the first thing i'd do is go back in time to the first time i said that, and beat the shit out of myself.
and the second thing i'd do is go back in time to the second time i said that, and beat the shit out of myself.
and so on.
and when that was done, honestly, i'd probably go back to the shittiest part of the addiction, and steal all our heroin. and do it.

that's just where my head is right now.

it's a shame.

you can almost see the two sides argueing in this entry.
will power has never been my strong suit.
be it girls, commitment, loyalty, self control, all of that, nope.
heroin has pointed that out to me.
although...i have to say, i don't give a shit if you're the strongest willed person in the world, give it a chance, and opiates'll do the same to you.
who's you?
fuck if i know.

y'know what'd be nice?
no? me either.

I'm gonna smoke pot, it's 3 A.M. and hopefully it won't push me in the fiend-direction.

It's kindof a coin flip, sometimes it'll chill me out, and sometimes I'll get high, get some of that "fuck it" in my system, and say just that.

I'm not really sure which way i want it to push me.

the biggest relief back in the day was ripping open those bags and feeling better. The second biggest relief was; after laying in a cold sweat for hours, hearing either me or lauren say "fuck it, call him"

you all understand, because no one's special. ya feel me? we all have so much in common. I'd almost say lets all move in together, so we'd all understand each other, but all it would take for us all to relapse is one person mumbling

"fuck it"

"what did you say?"

"nothing"

"no, what did you say?"

"....um...fuck it.."

"alright, lets go."

and a half hour later we'd have a car full of us driving to whereever.

And that night would be a party, probably lots of fun, and lots of laughing, and probably a good bit of sex, and also, a lot of crying, cause we'd all know what we just got ourselves into.

We'd all swear; "not again, this was the last time"

haha.

that's probably the lie told the most often with junkies.

followed closely by classics like "i'm not high, i'm tired" "i'll pay you back" "oh, i'm stuck in traffic"

there's a line in "Gia" her mother says, "you know that joke? 'how can you tell a junkie's lying?....her lips are moving'....it's not funny"

some of the truest words i've heard.

ok, i'm hella outtie, not running off to atlanta right now...but it's still a thought.

your "last" hit

I don't know how much money I have,
and I don't know how much longer I'll have it.
I don't know when I'll be able to move back home.
I don't know if this girl really loves me, or if she's just planning on paying me back for all the little fucked up things I've done to her in the past.
I don't know where this entry intends to go, I don't know much of anything right now.
It's that depression you get, before the sickness sets in.
But after your last hit.
Everything's shitty, or at least nothing's good.
Every detail is crisper then it was 24 hours ago, everything sticks out a painful amount.
I can't get comfortable, cigarettes and gin do nothing for me.
I'm reminded of a year ago, drinking margarittas with my mother at a mexican resturant, maybe a week or two or three after I ran away from philadelphia, from heroin, and maybe a week or two before I was re aquainted with it in atlanta.
Her smile was bitter sweet to me, and the alcohol made me too dizzy and that was all it did.
I was on probation, and that was my reasoning for tredding water.
I've been off probation for almost 6 months now, and I have to get moving, I can't kick and scream much longer.
But if I made it back home, to Jersey, to Pennsylvania, to New York City, in this state, I would relapse before I even got out of my car.
I-95 for 11 hours, and then the Lehigh exit, to Aramingo, to Castor, to Huntingpark, to wherever my dealer says to wait.
And then back, huntingpark, castor, aramingo, and a parking spot in the arby's parking lot, and a line, and then I'd wander north east philly with a sense of nostalgia and indifference that frightens me.
why on earth would i want to go back to that?
I don't know, but I know that Heroin still holds a seat on my shoulder, leaving the angel out numbered two to one.
That voice hasn't gotten any quieter the past year.
Although, I've been using pretty consistently, so it hasn't had much reason to tone it down, it's winning.
I could fill this blog with poems and poems and poems and some prose posing as poems.
But they rarely say what I need to say.
This waiting game is hell.
I was never brave enough to kill myself.
I mean, I doubt there's heroin in hell.
And if there is, I doubt they're passing it out.
And Heaven, at this point in time, is probably out of the question.
it's 5:30 in the morning, do you know where your heart is?

I'm alive.

thanks for those that were concerned, sincere thanks, means alot.
however, I'm fine, and I've been doing decently, I've begun rebuilding my drumset (mine was sold during the worst of the heroin thing)
I still use pretty regularly, But I don't go through bad withdrawal after my bienges anymore.
But thats only because I can't afford enough down south to last me long enough to put myself back in that hole.
Were I in Philly, honestly, nothing would be different.
I'd spend 80 on a bundle, and, since my tolerance has dropped, it would last me 5 days or so, and then i'd be a day or two away from a paycheck when the craving started, and the I'd buy another bundle, and three weeks or so of that, and i'd spend the rest of my pay check on it during the week, and then i'd be broke, and maybe a few months away from all sorts of pawning and criminal activities again.
So I wouldn't say I'm doing better, I won't say that until I can go a month without any opiate, and even then I'm probably a long way off, but i'm in a comfortable, albiet dangerous middle ground right now.
But the only thing that's keeping me there, is the fact that my paycheck isn't big enough to buy enough heroin to last me all week.
sad, but true.
And lately, I've been the middle man in all sorts of free-drugs-schemes.
for those that wanted my other diary, idk why the link doesn't work for you, but all the same, just search for the author name Dean Moriarty on opendiary.com, i've got something like 1500 entries there.
I may be visiting an ex up in nyc in december. She's an Actress, and Angel, and a Cocaine girl, so I'll either develop a new habit, or stay clean while i'm up there.
Although, It would only take me maybe 15 minutes to find a dealer in nyc.
And nyc's as good as it gets, with the possible exception of philadelphia.
I don't like thinking about that, but I can't help thinking about it.
I imangine most of you know what I'm talking about.
Lauren, the ex who was right there with me through heroin, and there alone for a while after I left, just started methadone.
Normally I'd preach against this with all my heart, methadone's a government sponsored addiction.
But as a last resort, I understand, and this is her last resort. And I hope with all my heart it works and she cleans up.
I don't think we'll ever be able to get back together, but she's family, we've been through too much for that to change.


it seems that the only people that really listen are teenage mothers, addicts, criminals, and cops.

The Polaroid must be a magician.

Open up that mirror, the polaroid went and vanished!
Shake it like a postcard, until the postal service crashes;
Then swing it like an email. (if you can actually grab it)
All speed, no substance, like some silent lightening flashes.

It's all me, you love it, more then you can handle.
No simple flow, I'm above it. So how 'bout a little sample?
We got some paper and some staples, telling a fable about a stable,
with a baby in a manger, and we clap and obey sir.
Shout a sermon to the vermon. Hell's real you best alert them.
Bells, hear about the curtain,
veil, ripped at a certain,
time in the past,
when a man was attached
to a stick with a crown while flirting
with his last breath.
With it he pled
to a god that was dead,
long before
the first word
was ever said.

So to feed my ego, I establised I'm the boss.
Now you see how we go, and how I always was.
Best belive I'm evil, you better be extra hard.
If you step you'll get wrecked, I'll put a dot on your chest...
and then send your mom a sympathy card.
While you're in the trama center
I warned you kid, you oughta know better;
then to waste time playing
with a lighter and kerosine
cause I'm that spark that's gonna get ya.

But like I began, the polaroid no longer belongs.
How long until all of our memories only exist on
the internet or dvd, or mp3 when you hear a song
that never fails to remind
you of a simpler time
before your innocence was gone?

Baby, we need a tape deck.
My computer can't play a cassette.
I miss the day before I met
the weight of the world head on.

a grin without a cat

I don't generally post about my days on here cause I have another blog that I've had for years and years at opendiary.com

http://www.opendiary.com/entrylist.asp?authorcode=A316555

right there.

It's too much trouble and seems a little redundent to write a blog and then just copy and paste it to another site, word for word.

So this sights generally just a little poem, not all of them though, I usually spit out one every day or so, and a rant every now and then.

That's all.

I'd love you cats, the few that read this, to check out the diary too, but either way, it's all good.

lata

drink me

"If you drink much from a bottle marked 'poison' it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later."
-Alice

Covered in conflict jewels,

and red leather and fur.

Pink suede jeans and platform shoes

So Glam I sweat glitter.

Plain as day, you already know.

Party Mother fucker, I stay out of control.

Party Monster? In one word, No.

Party like a rockstar, Cause I live like rock n' roll.

That was a recent ramble.

These are old, but I like them so much I have to post them here. I wrote them all in like 30 minutes, back to back. And I'm in love with everyone of them.

Little bits of genius

1.

Just a little pressure,

A little pressure’s all it takes.

Just a little pressure, and then a little shake.

Just a little squeeze and shake.

A squeeze and shake is all you need

To break the disobedient neck,

Of any bird you see.

2.

It’s been the same old story, since 1984.

A new day, call it doomsday.

That’s what your mouth is for.

To lick the boots of history,

No status without currency,

You’re equal with the air your breathe…

And still you call it property.

3.

In memory and taste;

Try to remember,

What sound we’ll want to waste;

Early this December.

I am your scene.

I’m not your novelty.

We won’t let landlords or cops or priests

Document our history.

4.

Pool of fucking:

It’s in your heart.

Glue every photograph

To every cum stain on the bed.

Every moment kills a memory.

And don’t forget what you meant to me.

The sound of love, it’s in your heart,

Love forgets like it’s in your head.

5.

God intoxication.

It’s the root of fornication.

A burning billboard full of boys and girls

Melting in each other’s arms.

In an undisclosed location.

6.

We are food for politics

And money can’t be eaten

Nothing to lose, we exist to each other

Until we lose our freedom.

In the old world I used to breathe.

I won’t cry for the absence of sincerity.

But for all the little greatest ways you used to see

your girl or your boy.

And all the greatest days when we used to be

all your favorite toys.

Fuck Puppet

Won't you choke me when we fuck?
Can we kiss while we shoot up?
Forget the love, we've got the drugs, If we need, we'll steal some cash.
Do some dope, hear me moan your first name cause I don't know your last.
Marry me.
Fuck Puppet, am I moving too fast?

That was years ago, but it's actually a true story. I think we were engaged like...3 or 4 days after we met.

Cup of Tea

hm. being sick, and sober is weird.
So I smoked a few bowls and passed out for a few hours, then woke up at 3, smoked another bowl, laid in bed for what seemed like forever, and now at 5:30, I'm wide awake, sober, drinking chamomile tea and rambling off a one sided conversation to the familiar blue glow of my computer screen.

Listening to the rythemic left and right, inhale and exhale of my fan to my back, (forever shaking it's head "no" to whatever question I pose, audible or otherwise), listening to my fingers tap dance in time atop my keyboard, watching the dances accompaniment in ripples inside my water bottle, illuminated by the afore mentioned 22" SamSung LCD.

An inch away from dissassociation via the dextromethorphan in the rainbow of cough syrups I have to choose from, an inch away from another cigarette, with the failure of the cough suppresants being the only deterrent to another toke of cancer, and at present time, harboring, cultivating the thoughts of my next bundle of heroin, (it is, of course, the greatest cough suppresent ever invented, just ask bayer, if they'll even admit to having sold it as such).

Feelings, actions, surroundings, chemicals.

Love, and War.

They say "all's fair in love and war". What I think they should say instead, for the sake of less syllabals and for a better, more comprehensive description of the afore mentioned lack of rules, is; "all's fair".
What aspect of life, of anyone's life, doesn't fall under one of the two catagories?
Love? or war?
Everything is either a joy, or a struggle, a luxery or a necessity, one you have to constantly work for?
Everything is either a battle, or a reward, isn't it? in one form or another?
Life is composed of little struggles and little joys...it's the little things;

Stop and smell the roses: love.
The early bird gets the worm: war.

So, to recap; sick, sober, awake, ramble, fan, fingers, ripples, cough syrup, cancer, craving, Love, war, Roses, Worms.

All's fair.

K and A

Home.
If you know where that is, you know exactly what I mean.
If you don't, then you don't, anyway, I'm not there;
So I'll swallow 1000mgs of propoxyphene.
And pretend I'm sober, and ignore that I care.

Girl, my heart's racing, I feel myself coming up.
I'll stay until my arms are heavy, and I'm throwing up.
Oxys and Heroin aren't anywhere to be found
So I'll stick with this bullshit until I come down.

This poems slowly becoming incoherent,
Starts with one topic, ends with something different.
Like everyone before, never stay specific
Although I miss the atlantic, I'd settle for the Pacific.

Read enough and you'll know that I have it
it comes and goes,
that rhyme and that flow,
but I rarely write systematic.
my writing's generally sparatic
bounce back and forth between my memories and my habit.

Bounce back and forth, like a game of beer pong
On the losing team, gets worse as I go along.
Drinking for everyone, 5 cups on both sides gone.
Can't stand so I sit, Computer screen, stare at it,
and pretend this is where I belong.

Save your old love letters,
Throw away your old bills.
Document your best days and heart breaks
and write each into your will.

Because I stand by my motto,
until the day I'm done.
Stay in the moment, not the one to follow,
Live fast and Die young.

I stand by my philosophy,
forged years ago, in a sheltered life,
Peddle to the metal,
Rock n' Fucking Roll,
Until the day I die.

One swallow, I'm a pro.
Wash it down with wine.

Yeah Jesus, we both know
Theft and drug abuse, that's a crime.
Turn me in and I'll hit you once in the cheek.
Cut your own throat, from swallowing your own teeth.
I'm hard like that, don't forget I lived on those streets.
K and A, I hustled every day, just to pay
for my own disease.


As previously stated, I'm fucked up. Propoxyphene (darvocet, tramadol) is a shit shit shit opiate high, 20 times weaker then morphine, but if you take enough, you get shit faced, but nothing like hydrocodone (1/4th the strenght of morphine), or oxycodone (equal to morphine) or morphine (duh) or diacetylmorphine (4 times the strenght of morphine, and faster acting<3)...that's heroin.
Of course there's always big daddy fentynal, 50s time the strength of morphine, but i'd prefer heroin, because fentynal doesn't give you as good of a high, it just kindof makes you real real sleepy, more like a xanax then an oxy or heroin. Plus, generally, heroin's the cheapest opiate unless you have a perscription, and I don't, so I steal or buy other people's pills.
The baseline seziure threshold for propoxyphene is 200mgs, as in, it's been documented to cause seziures at that dosage, although, i've taken 1000 and 800mgs several times and haven't had any problems.
All the same, with most brands, the amount of over the counter painkiller mixed in with the propoxyphene is much higher, so 1000mgs of propoxyphene brings me dangerously close to the overdose level for tylenol, 4000mg's base line, and 7000mgs for a severe overdose. Which, generally, is a death sentence via complete kidney failure.
But, I've done a ton of research, and had a ton of experience with almost every drug. So, I know about what I'm doing, down to the halflife in your system and the baseline detection levels for drug tests.
So, I encourage anyone that's going to try a new drug, or has any questions about mixing drugs or what they're currently doing, and the side effects and health risks, to, please, please please ask me.
of course, you can do the same research i've done, but so much of it is drug-war propaganda, or it's written by people who have no idea what they're talking about, and they're simply re-hashing what someone else heard someone else say.
I know from experience and research, ask me what's up and I'll tell you.
If I can help you have a better time, or avoid a tragedy (like addiction or death) I'd be really happy.
Plus, I'd be happy to have someone to talk to that has anything in common with me.
there aren't really any junkies in South Carolina.

Does anyone else miss the taste?

Find the junkie!!!!!
I'm 5'7", I think i was 98 pounds there.
And crazy part is, I got way way worse, that was before I even started stealing.
most of my cloths were too big, and you know junkies can't spare money on new cloths.
Junkies can spare money on sushi though, but only if they just did some dope. Other wise, that 6 dollars is getting saved.
Sushi probably saved my life.


Thanks to anyone that reads this. I generally write as a vent, as a chance to talk and share with my computer screen.


And when there's an actual person on the other side of it, it's really a big deal to me. Especially considering I hate where I live now and don't have any friends down here.









Call me free verse
but babe, i'm well rehearsed.
It may, but probably won't work
I'm a foot on your neck, your teeth on the curb,
I'm a kick while she's down
and you're too easily hurt.








I think things may finally be turning around.


Either that, or I'm only sober because I have no money.


Even down here in bumfuckyougottapurdymouth, I have 3 heroin dealers, after 5 months or so of living here.


Of course, in philly, I had more then I ever cared to count.


And still do, can't seem to delete the phone numbers.


I know I should, but that's asking alot.





However, I don't get physicial withdrawal anymore. Thank God that's past.


It used to be, 6 hours without at least one bag, and I'd start getting sick and going crazy, a bundle a day if we had it.


It's been a week or two without heroin now, but that's really only because I haven't had the money to drive to ATL and buy a gram, or to make a phone call and turn the fedex driver into a drug dealer.


Of course, I have enough money to buy a gram in philly, but not enough to drive there and back, or to get it here.


Shit's so much cheaper back home.





I shouldn't ramble about drugs, but it seems, still, the only ever present topic of conversation.





I do have a few people that want to make the road trip with me to buy some cute blue squares with red stamps on them.


They'll split gas money and shit.


Adrianne was talking about paying for a road trip up to nyc with her, that'll get me to philly.


So, I have things coming up, unfortunately, or fortunately, i have money coming my way too.








I miss signing autographs, I miss fans, I miss straining to hear the monitors over the crowd singing along.


I miss drug deals, I miss empty parking lots, I miss allegheny and kensington.


I miss our crazy parties, 200 people and then a few police.


I miss the way, we'd walk on stage, and everyone would look at me.





I miss the cred you seem to get, when they know you're dealing heroin.


I miss the high, and heavy eyes, but I could do without the addiction.


I miss my friends, without dope, I'd still be with them,


instead of this mess i'm in.








Oh, by the way, I'm stuck down in the southeast cause of probation and because I sold everything I owned and got in debt over heroin up in Philly, But Home is South Jersey, right along the expressway, between philly and atlantic city.





So that's my life right now,





I'm a victim of the region, and as such, sober.


I'm back to a bum and becoming a chain smoker.

I hope my dealer wasn't busted.

There was a heroin bust in philly today.

4 kilos.

Pigs said it was 1.3 million worth.

Which is bullshit, cause at street prices, without any sort of bulk discount at all, i can get one kilo for $80,000

What that means, is 4 kilos was really 320,000 worth.

Philly dope is always at least 70% pure, so they must be talking about cutting it down to like 5 percent.

Hi.

I wasn't planning on actually writing in this, just posting some shit that I'd like to have seperated from my usual rambling.

I guess that's the best word, rambling.

I'm not Neil Cassady, but I try.

I'll probably never just describe my day (if i ever do actually "write" in this again)

I don't do that, I write what I think, brain to fingers, fingers to keyboard, keyboard to lots of other shit inbetween what i think and when you read it.

Lots of other shit, but never a second thought.

I've been compared to james frey, except i don 't exaggerate, crack's not my thing.

Goodnight.

The otherside of the mirror and needle alike.

how bout we just try to be,
like those sheep eye balling me?
how bout we attempt to see
The cloudy skys silver lining
and watch the sun creep over the horizon
and measure the earths shadow defining
the phases of the moon dividing
our months into weeks?


How bout we actually try it?
(That mystery called soberity.)
Lets run for the rest of time
from our shadows chasing our feet,
from becoming anything like complete,
from the guy in the mirror (he say's he's me).
But, i know he's not, i can see his eyes,
it's a face I don't recognize
I don't remember becoming a junkie.

Made it Clear, Understand?

I'm further from you every day.
I'm sitting still, still one of us is walking away.
I'll be back, we'll be back, wish i may,
wish I might, i wish we both could change.


The person I once was has faded
I'm addicted, I may be a little jaded.
When did everything get so complicated?
Ignore that, I know, no one has to say it.

Remember when I graduated?
Remember prom? Remember how we celebrated?
The party starts at 10, you're late, but I'm glad you made it.
I'm not happy to be here, but I believe I can fake it.

I could resort to alliteration
I could rehash the same old lines
Faded Star, forgot what we are
rock star ready to roll in real time.

I hate writing with similies
I hate metaphores, fuzzy imagery.
But I guess it's required for your poetry
I'm as smooth as a paper plate, and close, i'm almost as deep.

You've never been here, so don't begin to talk
You've never bought styrofoam plates because you can wash them off.
You've never fought back tears, looting your families jewelry box.
And if you have, then you know, that's rarely where it stops.

Maybe you've slept in a car covered in snow, broken down in a parking lot.
Maybe you've memorized the ghettos, and your home town you forgot.
Maybe you've ignored your mothers calls, when you were buying heroin.
Maybe you've seen your phone ring, but hand cuffs were keeping you from reaching it.

If so, I have something in common with you
If not, feel free to move along.
If you only understand, i guess that'll do.
But simply understanding doesn't mean you belong.

Stumbling over my words

Soft speaks the king, forgive my studder.
Self crowned, looking down, as the sheep clutter;
following the beaten path, trying not to veer.
Sk-Skip, St-Stutter, he still speaks so clear.


St-studder in the latest
fa-fashion, play the greatest
ra-ra-rockstar eh-eh-ever
to ra-ramble a ra-round.
Ka-ka-keep your fa-fa-feet
firmly placed, in the cl-cl-clouds.

Cha-cha-chain smoke a pack.
Under the table, ta-take the cash.
O-off the books, avoid the tax.
Ste-steal a car, a-aim to crash.
Ba-ba-back, in a fla-fla-flash;
Hot pink leather ja-jacket in a t-tourist trap.

Da-da-dance at the show with you,
and f-fur and suede are dancing too.
OBESESSION'S A GAME I PLAY TO LOSE.
It's a risk I fr-freely choose.
St-studder to groove, ma-make it sound smooth
and pretend I don't lie, la-love sp-speaks true.

I'm a liar and a cheat, That much is true.
I'll mirror my rhymes, this time try to speak smooth
It's a life style I'm destined to choose.
Quitters don't win, but do they really lose?
I'll never quit, you'll never quit too.
While I'm chasing my dream, may as well run with you.

Now

I smoke at gas stations now.

I'm not exactly sure, but have a handful of reasons why,
maybe the mix of gasoline and nicotiene gets me a little high.
Maybe because fire and fuel may mix and then i'll burn and die.
Maybe that little explosion is my last chance to defy.

I smoke a pack a day now, paying with dirty change
I'm broke and can't find a way out, can't seem to rearrange
the monotony of my days now, my dreams are still the same.
Phone calls and drug deals, and that let down when i wake.

Moth holes in all my cloths now, and poorly fitting jeans.
Shirts are worn thread bare now, and rips at all my knees.
Jewlrey's broken and dirty, pants are ripping at the seams.
Can't carry my wallet,
holes in my back pockets,
from sitting on the streets.

I'd honestly sell my soul now, for 4 grand and a bag.
Just enough to numb the pain, and get me back on track
.Just enough to leave this place, and get back what i had.
Just enough to get up, on my feet and off my back.

But like I said, I smoke at gas stations now,
Cause I know that'll never happen.

The God of Slaves

I am a God.
God of the drugs, God of the streets
Merciful Deity to the dope sick junkie.
God to the customers, Lord of connects
Sponsor to atlanta and philly's dealers of death.

I am a Slave.
Slave to the drugs, tied to the streets.
My only friend, just me and the city.
Your best customer, your best friend.
Give you a grand a month, your best connect.
I'm a joke, made to make you laugh.

People don't like me, I'm a cheat and a theif
People aren't like me, so don't dare judge me.
And I'm still walking, those streets.
I've still got the eyes of a strung out dead beat.
I've still got the dreams, with friends in philly,
finding bags on the ground, each as empty as me.
Cut open and scraped, just like i do.

This fix doesn't fix a god damned thing
It makes no difference, a gram or a ki'
sooner or later i'm back to a fiend.
sleeping all day finding no escape in my dreams.
Drinking right after coffee, a pack a day
my breathing's recovered, so i'm back to stay
until my next bienge, 240 away
from a trip north, an hour to rest
and back down south, dope close to my chest.
close to my heart, grieve when it's gone
no more cash, just enough to get home
locking me up's the only cure for my head
a year in a room, crazy, laying in bed.

You aren't like me, so don't judge me.
If you've never been here, how the hell are you above me?
Side by side, just up a difference street,
you're cruising south, i'm on erie and thirteenth.
There's no inspiration, just the craving
There's nothing but that van that could possibly save me.

And then I'll sit in my room and do nothing all day
or waste it at work, so much i can't say
This was expected, knew it would happen
hope it only lasts a day or two.
i'm an inch in a half away from snapping
just for a taste of you.


there's not enough posion in this cup
not enough bags of fairy dust
not enough sun, too little rain
too much reality in too many dreams.

cut my hand on glass climbing out the window
cause where i'm going is too urgent to walk out the door.
stumble over cops and bills and fines
open the door, turn the key, and drive, drive, drive.

first stop, jeweler, pawn my class ring
second stop, 95, this side of dc,
gas and a drink, cigarettes in anticipation
of that chain smoking urge, that philadelphia vacation.

if i wait it out, things will stop making sense
after a few drinks, maybe the fifth or sixth.
at my bar, surrounded by fair weather friends
all smiles and bullshit, i don't give a shit for them.

the ones that matter, always forgive and then give
and i take and i take and keep forgetting it.
keep coming back and begging again
another loan, there's no, obligation for them.

i don't have dreams any more, no joy in the night
i'd trade one dream of yours for ten nightmares of mine.
not scary in the sense that i wake up and scream
but scary cause each night the same star's featuring.

more ache then pain, like a late relative
boy how i've become a beautiful hypocrite
i lay in my bed thinking sometimes
oh irony, let me join them, it'd be nice to die.

unless deaths a dream, then i'd prefer to live
live my right way or my wrong way, at least i'd exist
maybe i'll change or maybe i'll persist
either way i think i've come to grips with this.


i have a feeling.
i have feelings.
But only when I'm sober.
I give a shit
But only till it's over.
I want to quit these chemicals
until they're all gone.
I want to move to philadelphia
and live on allegheney and kensington.

my reasons?
my reasons are legion,
the law, a lesion
got caught? a lesson
won't be so foolish again.

going back?
going back? you bet your ass
when, as soon as i've got the cash
why, if you must know, because
pitter patter, fits and fuss, there's nothing in the world quite like us.

writing's become rudimentary,
finding the rhymes, elementary.
forget the fight, i've lost evidently.
back on track, on the tracks on my arms
headed to philly, i've already packed my car.
call this all silly, maybe it's insanity
i keep repeating the same action,
thinking the result will differ eventually.
got the engine, the gas and the traction
to live in the ghettos in the north east
got this addiction, has it's attraction
a life with nothing but my drug and me.
it ain't like you don't know, i'll be in that alley
in a cardboard box, a smile on my face, quiet fast asleep
how long would that last, maybe a god damn week?

i've got a grudge against those pigs
so quick to try to judge me.
bite my lip, hate my friends
Look I fit in, just like them
Do lines in their bathroom, and try and pretend.
Look, I'm just like you,
Look, I'm just like them.

"But will they still run when I'm aged and wrinkled? How much longer in this world? 5 years? If I'm Lucky?"

walking round a rock quarry.
standing on a rail road bridge,
add and subtract and work it all out.
thank jesus,that i'm not religious

shoot up a little bit
watch me burn and fall
a seventy five year long shooting star
is all any of us ever are.
spending that flash in a trap or bar.

no i'm not a priest
never intended to be.
no i'm not the sun or a perfect son.
my faults? i'm lazy and a junkie.
seems to be my destiny.

shoot up, shoot across that sky
I'd watch for me during my twelve hour drive
instead I find escape, not relief
in a glass of rum, cigarettes, and my sorry excuse for poetry.

lyrical, rythemic, two of the three I love.
Rythem, writing, and hard drugs.
2/3rds to happy, 12 hours from complete
sit and vibe, live and die, on the same fucking street.
I'm sick of this town, suffice to say
I'd much rather burn out, then live to fade away.

The Marigold

"oh, I've made love
yeah, I've been fucked.
So what?
I'm a cartoon.
You're a full moon.
Lets stay up."
Conner o'berst

Problem is I don't know who's who.
And I don't know which it was.
I don't know If it's true,
and forgive me, I don't mean to cuss
But It's easy as fuck to fall for you

you're in my heart, you're the little things i forgot
about why i love rock n' roll, you're so ridiculously fucking hot.
You're a home wrecker and a love letter.
you're as smooth as a splinter,
and you're my jackpot, you're a go getter
you're this year's grand prize winner.

a great fuck, a summertime hottie,
and still a stunner, and now you caught me
marigold, i'm worried, now it's winter
stay warm, come make love to me.
who am i kidding, we're both sinners.
get in bed and fuck me.


Don't forget, you know what i am
i'm hand me down love, in the back of a taxi cab
when sooner or later, it all turns bad
This is destiny, sweetie don't be sad

I'm the same heart i was, grey and monochrome
I've still got a line wanting a chance at me alone
same kid, same man, new day, with a new phone
it's just a new way to spit the same game you know.

still got that alliteration, still got that rhyme
still no morals, hopped off the fence, walked off the line.
still no problem with a life of crime
all's fair in love and war, and that's all there is to life.

figure out which way i'll choose, could you flip a coin?
matter a fact, since it's out, could you loan me a dime?
snort and smoke and love and use, all comes in due time
am i loving or useing you? heart break or stay behind.

ok you smoke, shoot dope, snort coke, it matters not to me
i've been around enough to know we each have our own disease.
teach you the streets, make you a theif, steady out smarting pigs
one more walk around the block and i'll show you everything

add another addition to the list
always time for another kiss
another line and another hit
anymore bullshit, let them meet your fist
harder then that yay or butter, bust their fucking lip
rest assure though, baby love, i won't deal with your shit
i won't quit, if i'm fed up with it, i'll leave you unconcious bitch.
i know the same goes for you, i've gotten it to the chin
attitude, arrogance, any clue where to begin?
how about where this all started, backseat then the bedroom.
i hate to admit, i hate that it's true, i've fallen for you,
bitch, you fucking win.

My Actress, My Angel, (someone elses) Adrianne

Should have said how I feel for you, by now I've missed my chance.
Want you to say, "i love you too", like you've done in the past.
I'd like to think we're far from through, I think we're made to last.
I'm walking behind cause now you move, the cities got you going too fast.

I had a goal, but not a mission
to make you love me again.
I tried, I failed, welcome back, repeatition
the lines are old, but lets pretend.

Pretend this was the first time we've met
forget all the past mistakes
fall in love and be loved, forgive and forget
lets leave forever on this next train.

Lets kiss on that compass, lets trade kisses for cigarettes.
Lets count 99 red ballons, dance on a stage made of cement
lets walk up and down the river bank, holding hands like we'd never let go
lets start anew, lets love and be true, i swear to everything i care about, i'm still in love with you.

We'll run lines on a new bench, a new serendipity.
Write a rock opera about us, and leave out every fact.
hold hands, board walk, times square, everywhere inbetween,
lets leave town together and never come back.

ok, i can't write like i'd like to write, I'm sorry,
i don't have the voice to sing.
I have rythem, a little rhyme, if you need, i have time
so i swear i'll wait. as long as it takes. for you to fall back in love with me.

It's been less then a half of a day,
Simple rhyme, I asked for a place to stay.
Low and behold, Struck fools gold,
Still holding my breath and holding my phone.

And I seriously doubt one will come with time
I'll push the point, I'll repeat that line.
Do you need, a bit of me?
Would you enjoy, my company?
I'd be polite, I'd bite my tounge
I'd censor myself, I'd hold my guns.
In lou of it all I'd pretend to have fun
Until a new city becomes home.
Until we're in the middle of it all
Until we're both all alone.

Wearing two rings,
Staring at my reason to leave.
That statue on the riverbank broke.

Kill this city,
No longer a sanctuary
Leave while you still can, get on the road.

Write in triplicate
Circadian syndicate
I'd like to think I can't be replaced.

Though this seems to indicate
Others will take my place
Our own personal coup de grace.

Take a pause to relate what we are.
An excuse, a cause, to rock the r's
Remember running around the river?
Recall red hair rocky horror and winter?
Repeat the fair, the shows and the fans,
fade to 'f', find the ferris wheel again.
Forget our fouls, forgive the mistakes.
Feel free to believe, we're finally ok.
Almost alright, absoloutly assured
All my attempts are already anulled.
Alliteration is easy, effortless even.
Each little treason had it's own little reason.
Maybe baby, might we move on?
Must we meander around this emotion?
Make an excuse, the exception is me.
I can't comprehend what I won't believe.
Come to complete an incomplete cast
Just try to trust that we may actually last.

Has the self proclaimed; jersey elite
Finally met his match in the big city?
That's nonsense, I still look down my nose.

Have I realized, there's no going back?
Have my bread crumbs been eatten? Have I lost my path?
I've realized I'm stuck, I have no where to go.

No thought to this writing, my fingers just flow
I don't know what I've said, thus, have nothing to show.
No true emotion, haven't said a damn thing.
Nothing but lines not worth repeating.

Confessions of Apartment 3624, my story.

filters

Pass time paving driveway cracks with smokes.
Mortar's the ash from each, watch ants choke.
Looks like lightning or yellow brick roads,
Surround Where I sit and wait, Made a moat.

Confessions of Apartment 3624

(And the consequences of a year unsupervised there)

I ain't got no motivation,
gotta find some inspiration.
Fucking sick of being patient
give my life another face lift.
Can't seem to place it.
the day it all went wrong.

All went wrong long before
i did my first bag of dope.
Somewhere along the jersey shore
a perc 5 and hand rolled smokes.

I'm not down with pointing fingers
but it has never been my fault.
Uncle or cousin or lover, they're triggers
contributers, to my fall.

"Here's some pills you two split them."
"I don't like them, here, take two."
"Look what i have, here, lets eat them."
all of a sudden "I'm in love with you."

Pot was never my big problem,
xanax was on the way.
That evil poppy beat them to the punch
now it seems, she's here to stay.


Sober for almost two days now.
I feel that crazy creeping in.
And i know as soon as i have the cash
I'll be in philadelphia again.

Maybe i'll forget
how good high is.
Maybe i won't, then i'll become
another overdose statistic.
Maybe i'll get
a real 9 to 5 job
and learn to love the grind.
Maybe i'll get
Four hundred dollars,
and leave this town behind.

Listen closely, disenchanted stupid kids.
This is where you'll end up
if you discover where real magic is.

The Party

Rythem and flow, it's in my soul,
You can't hold a candle to me.
Triple stacks, I don't roll, hold a lighter to a bowl
Hydrohaze, blaze all day, It's all free.

Rock and Roll, it's all I know.
A needle a lighter a string.
Call me intrigued, blow heroin, - smoke weed.
See what you missed,
you don't know shit,
you wish
you were as hip
as me.

Hot like pulp fiction, a bad ass mother fucker
There's way too much friction, so fuck her, don't love her.
I lack any conviction, I told her, you know me.
I'm a liar and a thief, If you wind up on the streets,
I won't give you a cent till you blow me.

C'mon people, talk all your shit.
Every word they say is true.
I have a selfish streak, liar cheater and thief.
I want to have my cake and eat it too.

I've got a beat in my feet,
pitter-patter and flow
and i know
that nothing else matters.
Party until I'm weak in the knees,
out of breath chasing a dream,
either fitted cloths in a limosene,
or have my ass shipped home in a casket.

Rock N' Roll till I'm famous or dead.
Gonna party cause this has all been practice
party cause I've been practicing.
Gonna paint philadelphia red.


Boy oh Boy Bug, pop these pills, ba-baby bombs away.
Oh so literal, party to ill, what i mean is what i say.
Fuck a similie, I'm like myself, as cool as you want to be.
Bug, baby, shack up with me, so one night we can both od.
Hold you tight while you go insane, never let you come to harm,
While your tracking fingers are tracing track marks, up and down my arms.
Bug I know much better then you, that your love's a smoking gun.
While you laugh and cry for an hour and a half, that you wish this trip was done.
I mean what I say, no similies, three hits of LSD.
While I'm fresh out of dope, I ain't down with blow,
and I'm fiending for marie.


Drift wood, summer time hottie,
you're my marigold, way better then a poppy.
I miss 40s and blunts, miss our crazy parties.
Miss drinking games and mariokart, miss your rockin' body.

I'm watching you grow up, misfit, little miss mischief
After all these lessons learned, you're not all that different
Be still my heart, you're still my heart and soul,
Still the best in jersey, still my rock n' roll.

I hope you're either sleeping sweet somewhere,
or shit faced with a 40 dancing in your underwear.
Cause that's how we roll, Party don't ever stop.
Poppin pills, drinking booze, and smokin' some pot.


Watch me make you bad asses dip and run
Make you sick like a glass of 151
You bitch can't hang like the sun,
high at noon, i'm the one
that'll blow lines till it's done.

starting over two hours later
fuck with the best,
here's the best,
says it stamped on the blue paper
thought i was blessed
with the best connect,
just an activator,
to that trip till death,
slow down my breath till i'm dead hours later

hasn't happened yet, so i haven't stopped
how much you gonna bet, that i'll never drop?
lot less then you'll get, if you say i'll never stop.
been in phillys band lands, never heard shots.
no reason to be scared, steady ducking the cops.
know all the corners and all the corner boys' shops,
pick your disease, i'll get what you need, take my share off the top.
Get you H, hard, or girl, meth and that pot
any pill any drug, a hoe, gun or chop shop.

got the map on my wrist, in my veins there it is
this city's my blood, my love and my bitch.
a hoe and my dough, this city's my fix
watch out below, hope this isn't it.


Concern


You're quietly crazy and i'm freezing baby,
I can't feel my hands or my feet.
It's silent, I'm sleepy, I hope my heart keeps beating
I hope I remember to breathe

I'm not into narcotics, they're into me.
They follow me home incessently.

Got em? Gotta smoke gotta shoot gotta eat.
Gotta snort gotta bake gotta take if it's free.
Sex comes from drugs, either dealers or fiends,
They're from rock n'roll, all easy or cheap.


Four Cigarettes, No buzz.
Chain Smoking packs back to back.
Just high, it's love.
Avoid the tax, start smoking crack.
Not one second sober,
I'm getting worried, wasted all week.
On sunday, start over,
Die in a hurry, coke and E.

(My friend girlfriend is coming on to me.
Just make the first move, I want her so badly.)

Nerves are shot, I'm shaky and sore.
Cigarette burns and blood stains, wake up on the floor.
Catch a glimpse at the clock, slept thru a whole day of work.
I'm pressing my luck, but I'll take a few more.

Every night a new girl, every day a new mix.
A new adventure, great sex, Ms. saturday's getting sick.
Xanax and liqour, mix in heroin.
Party nonstop. Summer never ends.


Rehab is for quitters,
quitters never win.
Dead or bored, it's time to choose
Chain smoking's not a sin.

Now I'm a dealer.
I'm pushing heroin.
They never mention that quitters never lose.
Win back my innocence.

I'm shaky and sore all the time.
I'm noticing my heart now too.
Pitter-patter skip a beat,
catch up and then skip two.

I've been 2 hours late for work,
Every day this week.
My stomach's bleeding and I'm noticing
It's getting very hard to breathe.

Two hits and we're floored
The entire fucking night
Rock N' Rolls got us wasted
It's the only thing we got right.

At 6 in the morning, Laying in bed, thinking, "what did we smoke?"
Just a bit, just two hits, over 8 hours ago
Crushed xanax and valiums, and percs and oxies
sprinkled on some weed with coke.


Consequences


I sold my Rock n' Roll.
I lost my long term goals.
I told my girl, pay me back...
and we'll get high; I'll sell my soul.


Lately I miss my Marigold,
turned to driftwood from the drugs
Introduced her to all the chemicals she knows
If there's only one, she's my rock n' roll.

I miss my Bug, partied like you've never seen
Late nights, great sex, and drugs
One night, alcohol, opium, ketamine,
heroin, weed, and three hits of LSD.

I'm starting to miss my mirror, cause she's just like me
Valium and Cherry Wine, and she's single, finally
We have so much in common, we're liars, and we cheat
Still crazy about that bitch, don't care cause we're both theives.

And boy oh boy I miss my soulmate
She's my heroin.
Candy, I'm hooked, it's either love or drugs
I'm not sure which love will win.


I wish I could quit everything
hide under a rock and waste away.
I hear your so called choir sing
"waste not, want not, erase today"
no smile out of anything, no joke
worth the breath to tell.
No love or lust, heaven or bust,
and all along i'm hoping for hell.
Don't try to make me smile.
You'll come clean eventually
don't make me walk another mile
a heart attack's a certainty.

They, they
always, always said...
Big kids,
big kids don't cry.
Blush,
See my cheeks
Turn red,
turn red...
Cause it's way too hard to die.


"Recovery"


A new disease seems appropriate.
Booze replace the opiate.
Watch as my addictions gradually procreate.

Withdraw's a lazy day
Praise that amazing grace
Pray like i'm going crazy to saints
Watching eight girls in a daisy chain.
Playing crazy eights,
I'm an ace of spades
symbolizes death,
lifes a fucking card game.
I'm an ace or slave,
lets paint my face.
Lets give him due praise
when it's due, over due, now i gotta explain.
Thought i had it under control
tried to keep my decks in order.
My card came years too soon
I'm gasping for h like a fish outta water.


The seasons are getting colder
and I'm 700 miles from you
here's a 10:30 pm poem,
for those parties off hwy 322

Don't call these verses eulogy
cause those times are hardly through
just put them on hold, did what i have to do
but you better believe, jersey, i'm coming back to you.


I think I may miss getting high, when the day didn't start till damn close to night.
Bed time was the morning rush hour.
Powerless until we got those blue bags of power.
Cursing the pigs with their suburbia shakedown.
Never straight faced, either smiles or frowns.
Either ups or downs.
Either heroic or sick.
Rollercoaster of life,
miss the ride and waiting in line,
I miss the streets,
miss every piece of it.

My new homes not the same, it's too old.
There's too much hot in November,and too little cold.
Drive twelve hours back to snow.
Drive all day for a gram of good dope.
Philly ghetto's still synonomous with home.
How long until i'm done paying this toll?
How long till i'm done paying fines on my soul?
How long until where the heart is becomes home?
They arent my friends, just faces i used to know.


I am tint and chrome
sin and poems
Watch me grin and groan
then spin and moan
I am skin and bones
and not alone
I'm done.
Follow along...

Got some dough, fight the temptaion of dope
fighting off the offered drugs
fighting the urge to resort to coke
while holding on to a decaying love.

Got either 3 or 12 hours in the way.
Love or drugs, dough is the problem today.
Go far away, lets go lets go lets go and stay.
Hold em at bay, believe me i say;

"Why the rush,
why clusterfuck,
why fluster
baby why must
you just
keep your mouth shut
till it builds up
over flows and erupts?"


Protect me from what I want.
Protect me from what I think I need.
The disease I create.
Maybe this is my fate.
The disease of this age.
This is a new kindof disease to me.
Crushing my self esteem.
Sick and silent and alone.

The cure is also the virus.
The virus a cause to celebrate.
A fuel so we can stay up late.
Get high and drink our cares away.
But low and behold it suprised us
now we're trapped all alone.

Both of us guilty of crimes.
Celebration ain't gonna chime.
Broke and run down doing time.
In these prisons in our own minds.
In these prisons all alone.


Hear the horse hooves, click and clack
Welcome home, I'm glad I'm back
I'm sad I'm back, this home's a hole
A hole in hells boot print, the center of the soul.

Half way across the country,
and i'm missing my old best.
Conjour up my memory
Cause this is where I'll rest

It's the same old story, all my readers know
Sharper then my razor, cut my finger on my window
Stronger then it should be, Fall out from a bit more.
Cause now it's definatly, way too far to walk through the door.


Relapse


in lou of the trouble between you and me
and the distance between me and philly
i've resorted to perscription narcotics
xanax and darvocet and vicodin and oc's

wash down a fist full of pills, with a glass of wine
hope for a buzz, hope for the best,
the answer will come with time.
light up a smoke, my lifes a mess,
but now i'm feeling fine.

i've got two ways to spend my cash, follow along if you care
either go to see my girl, spent on gas, and we'll fight while i'm there
or it'll go to atlanta with me, to get a gram of brown
my soulmate'll cry,
I'll get high
But not as much as i'd like
cause they don't sell stamp bags down south


This is living.
The rooms spinnin', closed my eyes, feelin' like i'm blind and swimmin'
disoriented layin' on the floor in the kitchen, after i did a line of ambition
I'm beginnin' to consider ditchin', with my stamp bag of munitions
but this sister's bitchin and as high as me, after an eternity,
finally,
she says "no way".
Outta this piss poor one horse city,
I think i'm leavin' today.
Like i'm high trapped in a hour glass full of heroin,
i'll smash it
but still fresh air leaves no escape.

First one drip.
Then another drip.
Drip by drip i'm drowning in front of all these kids.
Making the illusion of comfort out of vinegar and piss.
Tic,
the second hand pauses for an minute,
an hour,
all the while frozen on the floor around this game of kings.
Toc,
the second hand jumps and turns my stomach sour
my 40's empty, the blunts gone, and my heroin is beckoning me.
This is how i used to party.

I realize now, this fight is not worth fighting.
So go now, you are forgiven.
I think i'm livin' today.
Like I'm high trapped in a hour glass full of heroin, i'll smash it
but still fresh air leaves no escape.

Live fast and Die Young,
In a New York Minute, I'll be back in The City.
Small Town Life is not much fun,
maybe If I wait, The fun will come to me.

Dropped an addiction, picked up two.
Me and society have very different views.
The prefered to me is not the same as you.
I don't give a fuck which the pigs choose.

Junky isn't dignity, which I'd much prefer.
But I don't want soberity, you just handle what's yours.
If you have an objection because I won't walk the line.
Then I'll deal with my obsession, And I'll handle what's mine

If you're done with this life, fast and free
And you want to settle down; would you kindly leave?
I don't intend to quit, slow and steady is not for me.
Watch your dogs eat their own shit, and I'll stay a druggie.

Got the map on my wrist. In my veins, there it is.
This city's my blood, my love and my bitch.
A hoe and my dough, This city's my fix.
Look out below, I hope this isn't it.

Get to know me.

Paint me a Dream Come True
Paint me a Sober You.
I can't paint a Self Portrait, Though there's a mirror right here.
It's occupied by a razor, and my greatest fear.

I'll set this town on fire.
Paint the universe red, stand back and admire
My master piece, it's a diaster, see?
Come call me a fuckin' liar.
I'll tear your house apart,
your home and heart,
one's the other's funeral pyre.

Walk out with your jewels and gold,
Steal and sell, I'm a pawn shop soul.
Scam on the streets, sell Guitars, sell TVs.
Sex, Drugs, and Rock n' Roll.
One Eclipses Two, Ends up Posessing you,
Buyer Beware, toll's flesh and bone.

Hi, Call me Moriarty

I want to be the Lizard King.
I want to be Stevie Ray.
I want to walk and speak John Lennon,
And I want to breathe Cobain.

I already party like Sid and Nancy,
I'll learn to twist just like The King.
I'm gonna rock like Iggy Pop,
and take a walk a lot like Lou Reed.

One day I'll show Courtney how to fuck,
and I'll show Santana how to play,
I'll teach Keith Moon how to beat the skins,
and show Bob Marley how to blaze.

My heartbeat's groove and funk and rhythm,
My voice is melody and song and soul.
My fingers are every scale, chord and note.
And my blood is Rock-n-Roll.


Boys I'm back, lets all rejoice
Let us resume making some god damn noise
Let us assume we never quit
Let us scream until they give a shit

Let us escape without chemicals
Let us rock until we shake heavens walls
Who gives a fuck if the pearly gates care?
At least we'll make sure they know we're down here.

Mixed with heroin, but my blood never changed
Rock n' roll,
you know,
still flows,
thick inside my veins.
I suppose there's something they expect me to say,
Fuck them all, they can go to hell, brothers, let us pray;

We gather here together, before this show today.
We're kicking ass and taking names, lets blow them all away.
Because the Gods, they call us sons, they say it's all their will, not ours.
But we lived this shit, since we were kids, it's our turn to be the stars.
Cause it's a sold out show, and the crowd's not ready, they think we're all afraid.
We'll show them now, how kings are crowned, cause we're the one's that paid.
Paid the price, we gave our lives. Here on this stage we're home.
A family raised by all the greats, each and every one.
So this is the prayer we pray before we, pour out our hearts and souls;
into the crowd, to drink us down, cause together we're rock n' roll.
Be it.
Believe it.
So they can see it.
Amen.