I try and not let hate
percolate through my permeable membrane
but I hear lead goes through easierA
ll you have to do is cock back a pin
and let it tick to the perpetual rotation
of a revolving barrel that takes care of you slowly
second by second and second chances
are just moments for relapses
back into a rhythm of tracks
aligned parallel along veins
leading to the heart
to deliver a substance so sweet
that it turns God’s nectar
into basement alchemist labs
which stab veins
and deliver train after train
to stationary brains in
back alleys and back stage
where they can heat up life in a spoon
and chase that dragon
only for it to be shot outta the sky
and your eyes
turn blood red
at the thought of you losing that friend
so you need some visine
for those holes to see
the damage of a wrecking speedball
battering your brain
Misery is pain
Misery loves company
so it’s funny how nobody wants to be around you
as you withdraw
and draw a line in the sand of time and say
“Ha, I’ll never see you again”.
But only two weeks later
you find yourself retracing steps
and stumble upon a hole
You got so high
you had to dig to the earth’s core just to feel grounded
You found a crater
of the last jagger bombs
which got you the right amount of dizzy
and that right amount of fucked
and you remember when it hit
your lips
to that vase
holding a different kind of fauna
which seeds in you this fantasy
which grows
And you climb
Jack and the bean stock style
up this plant to find that these gateway joints
found you the gateway to heaven
and their waiting for you
to get high enough to find them
because when you do
You won’t come back
so they erase you from memories
as they cry tears of anger not pain
and feel pathetic not happy
because you threw your life
into an 8 mile landfill
but didn’t have the strength to climb back out
So I thought one day
I’d suite up my self
propel down into that landfill
and pull you out
but I couldn’t find you
You were taken in a pipe line
of crude turmoil
which burns the lamp at midnight
by which you scribe hieroglyphics on the walls
but you understand
what the pictographs
scratched as a time keeper
on your cell walls mean
and they speak to you
in tongues
tasting life
as bitter, unfiltered city air
and they love it
because for the next thirty days
they’ll be free
as you sit in rehab and rewire your life
or just try and patch it together
with tear drop tattoos of “your crew”
well your screwed
cuz they’re not here for you
You’re all alone
and they’re gunna digest you
in the belly of the beast
and spit you out
not exactly the same
But hopefully
if you’re lucky
better
