I have been

   Up for weeks

And I really

     Do not care

I don’t want

    To speak

I don’t want

   To hear

So leave me alone

    You don’t know

How I feel

   Just one more bump

And all my pain

   Will heal

Fuck the family

   And to Hell

With having a job

   I get by just fine

Slangin clear

   To my mob

I always stay smart

  And put on

Long sleeves

   To hide all

My marks

   From the fucking

Police

   I’m doing just fine

Hell I’ve never

    Been better

You cannot stay

    Someday I’ll write

You a letter

  Tell Mom I’m

Doing good

   And living life

As I should

   Oh I feel

Like shit

  I fucking said

Go away!

  Just need

One more bump

   And I will

Heal and feel

   Okay

DJD

My Mama hides all day

     alone in her room.

The walls are painted yellow

     by cigarette fumes.

She says, "I need a refill. My bottle is empty."

Yesterday there were twenty.

My Mama is a bird

     that no longer sings.

My Mama is a butterfly

     that has lost it's wings.

Mama, Mama, where did you go?

Somewhere I will never know.

I got the call and rushed out the door

My hands were shaking

I couldn't grip the steering wheel

Four days

Nobody had heard from him for four days

I am his emergency contact

My key was at home 

So I banged on the windows and doors

The neighbors peeping 

From behind their curtains 

But  I didn't care

The police arrived 

I was sure he was dead

How will I tell his family? 

How did it get this bad?

Am I going to look? 

Why am I having such weird thoughts? 

We walked in the house

It was smoky inside

There was spilled milk across the floor

There was a burning pan on the stove 

That had melted the milk container 

Sitting next to it

The house smelled liked a combination 

Of cigarettes and puke

Suddenly, a monster appeared

Half naked and covered 

In vomit and mustard

The monster screamed and yelled

About how we intruded 

He just didn't feel well 

Didn't hear the phone

He slurred as he slid down the wall

No he doesn't need to go to the hospital

The police can't make him

I told his work he was sick

And would be at work the next day

Covered for him like I always have 

So he doesn't end up on the streets

He wouldn't even remember

What happened anyway

I go back to my life like I always have 

And think "I am too old for this"

I think about the man he used to be

And how sad he would be to know 

The person he would become

But it was just another day 

For my junkie father 

#prosechallenge #prose #poetry

It grows from

a single line

and often leads

to fondest hopes

being lost

in broken dreams

and smoke.

In the push

to fill the gaps

we feed our

habit with

laughter, sighs

and teardrops

from our babies' eyes.

Like all junkies

and all highs

we use

the contrast,

and the pain

to illustrate our

tawdry lives.

And even

when we grope

in vain,

the plot is lost,

the hero's toast,

we keep on writing,

addicted to hope.

Solitary and predatory,

he waits and watches,

echoes of obsession,

devouring murmurs

rolling out nightmares.

Lost in a whirlpool

of hungry whores,

a bloody thirst,

unconscious forces,

ginger light

of full moon.

He can’t be sated

lacking conscience,

blank page emotions,

feigned smiles,

void within,

his psyche

casting eerie shadows

of blood curdling terror -

nothing behind

vacant black eyes.

Bloody mud puddles

mark his trail

as he watches

them floating

by his stare.

He thrives

in a bowl

of empty

as he rips

and shreds

and shatters

fleshy pieces,

leaving thorns

as he bears

no shame,

abandoning prey

to eternal sleep –

addicted to

crimson beauty on

white thighs,

a tableau

mirrored by

fading screams.

Mirrored like craving of coming dawn

Outstretched arms of warmth and want

Quickly returns, this pain begone!

A casuistic caress underlined with gaunt.

While thy morals endlessly slumber

For my vice it takes its toll

The days of lavish have their number

Loved ones lament on my wandering soul

Though my light remains a flicker

Pulled deep down in endless deep

A split mind takes to bicker

Nevermore will these voices sleep

Stranded to reflect this cruel manifestation

The light be gone to this dark creation

I loved you best

On the days that stretched

Forever.

You sat next to me

Breathing possibility

Into my mouth,

We counted the ways

We'd never be like Them

(Them, those wretched wire-walkers. Them, those burdened bodies. Them, those desperate derelicts)

We were young then

But we knew enough to know

That time was a dealer,

Making promises she couldn't keep.

Your laughter went first.

Then your hands- a tremor

Unsteadying everything

That helped me remember

What it meant to love you

Best.

Still, I bargained.

You begged.

We swallowed the sun

And let our skin burn,

Hoping something

Would linger inside us

As we greeted the night.

I'm still shining for you.

Will

These Words

Ever

be Seen

by Another?

Will They

be Considered

the Drug

Induced

Ravings

of Madness?

For

I have

Known

the Taste

of

the Needle.

The Siren

Song

of Lies

she Sings,

Only

for you

If you

have Enough.

Twirling

upon

the Edge,

Dancing

the Dream,

as you

Dig

It in.

#B27321

I discovered it when I was young,

the power of words.

Words raw and selfish,

to me they were gold.

I imbibed the stories, pledged fealty to it

until it was not enough to just read.

The words had come alive in my head,

it would never be enough.

A toast to the exuberant demise of a life without writing,

then I put pen to paper and burned all roads to recovery.

We dance along lines of fine white powder, 

swaying back and forth

between beauty and chaos.

With you at my lips,

we stood over empires.

Pull me back like waves over sand,

and I'll breathe you in till I see stars.

Slip chains around my wrists,

and I'll cherish them like jewelry.

Sink into my clothes,

my skin, my bones, 

and I'll fall in bliss upon my knees.

In morning light,

I'll see nothing but ruins

until I breathe you in once more

like fine white powder.