i never posted ANY of my poetry, so here goes: i wrote this during a rare sober moment in my drug days about myself. I was living in Boston slumming around. dark drug booze daze.
Racked--
shacking like a leaf, brittle --
waiting for a decayed fix
drooling like a dog at bell
or sniper at bay
she
changed her diet but relentlessly belonged to
the forbidden
shaking still with lambs innocence,not an illusion
lipstick on straws and cups of change, the morning
breathed new light into the scene-
Musty, crusty
scratching like a hound dog
sun beats down
a crooked stick.
longing now with flies in her buttermilk....
it was bad for her and she knew it.
it was bad for her and she liked it.
Sweat stains like
rivers
clothing clings to skin almost something and
silence instead.
Here it came. . . .
( i've been sober for a little over a year now, as many of you know, and at the risk of sounding utterly sappy : thanks mucho bunches for all the support
)
Racked--
shacking like a leaf, brittle --
waiting for a decayed fix
drooling like a dog at bell
or sniper at bay
she
changed her diet but relentlessly belonged to
the forbidden
shaking still with lambs innocence,not an illusion
lipstick on straws and cups of change, the morning
breathed new light into the scene-
Musty, crusty
scratching like a hound dog
sun beats down
a crooked stick.
longing now with flies in her buttermilk....
it was bad for her and she knew it.
it was bad for her and she liked it.
Sweat stains like
rivers
clothing clings to skin almost something and
silence instead.
Here it came. . . .
( i've been sober for a little over a year now, as many of you know, and at the risk of sounding utterly sappy : thanks mucho bunches for all the support
)VIEW 13 of 13 COMMENTS
Having been in that same hospital bed as you have I am gald you chose to call it a day. I admire your spine and tenacity.
I for myself have managed to become a 'recreational user' as they call it. Only in the weekends, and only time and place admitting.