I was down and out... hopeless,
trying to find a way to... cope with this,
all my mistakes... go uncorrected,
my vein still aches... where I once injected,
madness floods my mind with pain,
thirsty for love... I pray for rain,
faint & brittle, a withering rose,
picked apart by vultures and crows,
seduced by pity...
in the deep dark city,
all my mistakes... go uncorrected,
my vein still aches... where I once injected.
Anyone experienced with addiction will tell you, it is a slow and steady journey to even get to a point where you can see the substance as part of the problem. For years meth felt as if it were my only friend in world of unfriendly humans. It took several months without it to be able to see its destruction. And yet this is still only the gap between precontemplation (where the reality is seen) and contemplation (where an escape plan is written). These poems are not my best writing, but they are the best to me, because they show my mind figuring itself out after three years of slow chemical suicide. Enjoy. More to come.
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