Tuesday, July 10, 2007

"as far as hookers go, you're like fucking Hemingway"


Later on in life
Something in my mind will slip and
Down, down, down I'll trip and fall on my pride

Loathing myself for all I've done
Sun, stars, and the moon have died
Deader than I've ever been

Living a lie I don't even understand
Submerged in catastrophic confusion
Dreams and reality become one and the same

Losing the last shreds of my sanity
Smiling, because I know that I
Did it all to myself


I wish I had a vein
I wish each day didn't bring a fresh wave of pain
I wish that I was sane

I wish that I could cope
I wish that I could smile without being full of dope
I wish I had more hope

Of course I love a good hit
But the rest of the time it just makes me feel like shit
I wish that I could quit

I wish I wasn't bored
I wish my depression would finally reveal it's core
I wish I wasn't a whore

I wish I wasn't cursed with charm
I wish I could wake up without a needle in my arm
I wish I could cause some harm

I wish I made more bread
I wish I could quiet the noise that fills my head
I wish I wasn't dead


"You shouldn't have finished that dope, Michelle!"
I just woke up and I'm going through hell
I would give both my legs and an arm to get well
And no one has shit that they're willing to sell
Crying and craving that damn needle stick
I won't survive another cold-turkey kick
This is the monster that I'll never lick
Pain I can handle, but I can't take the sick

If I don't write poetry sometimes, my brain feels full and it literally hurts. I don't pause and think about what the next line or the next rhyme will me, it just flows out of my mind through the pen and into the notebook I have set aside for my poems. I mean, I'll go back and fix shit but I'd rather not improve upon them because I like my poems best in their natural state. "LSD" was written during a strange acid trip. "I WISH" was written after I struggled for over 15 minutes trying to hit a vein, then gave up for a while and whipped out the notebook. Amazingly enough, after writing the poem and tying up again, I hit on my first try. Maybe my brain just needed to be emptied so I could concentrate on what the fuck I was doing. "RUNNING OUT" was written in mid-sweat with tears streaming down my face. Killer. I guess I'm pretty good at writing poems. Someone wrote me an email and in it he wrote something along the lines of "as far as hookers go, you're like fucking Hemingway." Mad props. I'll take that as a compliment, no other way to take it. I guess.

I got myself a new roommate, a girl this time! A workin' girl too. I would say she's the only Dixie ho I could stand to live with. Street meat, har! She's a big time basehead and shoots dope but she doesn't have a habit. She actually doesn't know how to boot up, she always has me hit her. I don't mind, seeing that she has to go through my people to cop and therefore always ends up breaking me off.

I smoked too much crack last night and ended up having to take tons of my Seroquel just to come off it. I don't know what it was about the dope because it really wasn't that much, it was just super good and I got super-jonesy which I usually don't get from smoking crack. Shooting powder, that's a different story- I'm all like more more more more MORE!!!!! Another thing that sucks about shooting coke is that after the first shot my hands shake like a mother and it's hard to hit. I'll get a vein perfect, but when I go to push it in I shake and the fucking shit moves on me so I see my skin start to swell and I'm like fuck! Then I have to stop and find the damn vein again and hope my hands stay steady enough to get off. Cause missing with coke sucks, it burns and then the spot goes numb and you can get an abscess real easy. If my hands are shaky when I'm shooting up, it's better to try and hit my foot because then I got both hands free- one to hold the needle steady and one to draw up and push in the plunger. I haven't shot coke in a minute though. Hooray for me! As good as a screaming coke shot feels, it's not really worth the aching jones and the difficulty hitting a vein and the having to do it every 5 1/2 seconds and the always-there possibility of doing just a wee bit too much and having a fucking seizure. Yes, I have coke seizures! I don't actually remember having them, because I black out seizures. But I've heard from several different people that after coming out of a coke seizure I'm scared of everyone and everything around me and I literally start screaming at the top of my lungs. That must freak people out, especially when they're high on coke too. I know I'd freak out if it happened to someone I was getting high with. Crazyness.

Blah blah blah, this is one long-ass post, huh? My head was so full and I had to empty it. Isn't that what a blog is for, to empty your brain to complete strangers? I can't think of another reason to have one. Writing is fucking catharsis to me. One of these days I'm gonna write my whole life story.

Right now I'm hanging out at a friend's house, typing away on his laptop. I was gonna go to the library today to update but I managed to get there less than 10 minutes before it closed. I didn't have my phone on me (I had forgotten it at the house and my roomie had it because she doesn't have a room key and didn't want to leave it in the unlocked room) so I had no clue what time it was. God forbid they equip motel rooms with a fucking clock of some sort. Usually the microwave tells time, but not mine. Shitty.

Greg dumped me on my birthday! Can you believe that shit? He was jealous of Shane living with me so he hurt me bad and dumped me. I spent half the day crying. I trusted Shane with my fucking life and I left him alone for one night to go to Miami and he sold Joe's phone to a crack dealer. The worst part was that when I asked him about it, he denied it. My best friend in the entire world looked right into my eyes and lied to me. That cut me DEEP. I don't know if I can ever trust him again! He wrote me the sweetest birthday cards though, and Greg didn't get me shit. Nice boyfriend, huh? But me and Greg are back together for some reason. I really do love him though. Everyone I love hurts me. He has the other room key which is why Billi (my roomie) doesn't have one.

My life is so goddamn complicated...

1 comment:

Joe said...

Hey Mich..
just read about your sub experience, that sucks! I actually heard of some people that it does not work on, but someone said that they tried it and it didn't work but that they shot a couple bags after that and it took away the sick. They didn't get high but the sick was gone. Oh well, if that happened to me I would not try it agian either!
Love your poems. The one about bein sick is fuckin great! The first line is cool, I ALWAYS end up doing whatever I have and am like, yea, you will be fine tomorrow if you do it all now becuase then you won't get sick as fast when you wake up. yea right!! haha!! I espically like the line "pain I can handle but I can't take the sick" Anyone who has not been dope sick has no fuckin clue. My wife, possibly soon to be ex wife, who now knows about my habit and me tryin to quit, is always like, it can't be that bad.. FUCK YOU!! haha!! Anyways, I hope everything works out with you and your new roomie..