blahblahblah
Bluelighter
My anti-depressants wont cope
so I daily blow dope
screw-up
Its mid-summer bright and early one Sunday morning and am huddled and crumpled. My knees are jacked all the way up against my body in the hopes that my bodies position will hold off the swirling snakes that make up my innards, I pray to God that I can hold back there vomitous strike.
The warm sun feels great but I still am freezing fucking cold. On lookers glance out of the corners of there eyes and spy a dopefiend shaking like a leaf on a tree holding its own against a strong summer Thunderstorm.
-Padded walls
-How many blows, rocks, pills...
-Who are you
-Light the fuse and blow me the fuck up
I reach up and grab the payphone and use it as leverage to pull me to my feet, I feed the machine my change and listen to the phone ring... ring... ring...
Motherfucking cockhead bitch goddamn, (uncoherent babble) fuckface, ANSWER THE DAMN PHONE. Cra-c-c-k is the sound the handset makes and it slams into the metal receiver. I collapse to the ground ready to break down and do what?
Into my pocket comes out my trusty pharmy bottle, 8mgs of Klonapin I swallow. I knew I should brought a few more grams of dope with me before entering NYC, I spit and almost hit somebody(thing?).
I spy two kids walking down the block toward me that look promising.
-Long sleeves
-Nappy dreadlocks
-backpacks containing all there belongings
They are upon me as I muster up energy to expel my breath
Pssssst,... Hey man...?
Hey whats goin on kid
"Nothing man, sick as fuck my dealer is not up yet and I just pulled into town a few days ago and I am to sick to try and go get scammed in the park for some bullshit dope and I don't know anybody else... I...I..." - I blurt out throwing all I have into that one pitch.
Well todays your lucky day kid, whats your name?
Drew.
Well I am Brandon and this is Brenda (B&B) were always around.
He stretchs his arm out in the effort to give me a boost up to my feet, as I grab his hand I notice a tattoo on the underside of his wrist. It is a picture of a garbage can (typical aluminum can) with the words, LOW LIFE framing it on top and bottom. I decide to comment on it later as all I want is these kids fucking heroin.
Were on our way to the needle exchange it doesn't open for an hour, we are going for breakfast. How many do you want? Give me two I say as I hand him a twenty. Brandon leaves his backpack with Brenda and leads me into some lower-east side cafe. We dart into the bathroom behind the waiters back and I cook my fucking dope up in record speed, fastest barrel in the East, I would make any Traxxx star proud.
Time slows as I watch my blood mushroom-cloud into the barrel of the syringe. Images flash thru my head...
-Negative images of Atom bombs
-Dead bodies covering the street
-Sunlight dimmed out, sourcing from the clouds of black flies
-I can hear the flies buzzing, ready to land on my body as soon as I hit the pavement
-People hung from lamp-poles there eyes bulging out of there heads
-A lone Bible with its pages blowing in the wind
My knees grow weak as the heroin hits my chest I gasp for a breath and fall back onto the toilet seat, Ahh..ahhh...uhh.uuuhh...yea....goodshit. My savior disguised in ragged street clothes? Or a devil dipping his pitchfork in heroin? I throw my needle into the toilet and try to flush it. Spinning out of the bathroom the narcotic high spirals from my feet to the tips of the hair on my head.
On the street, I ask Brandon his name again and he asks me the same, I offer to buy breakfast which promptly gets shoveled up. I excuse myself and go buy a pack of roll up Drum tobacco. On my way to the corner store I pass a alleyway. Looking in I notice a man standing up against the wall, broken glass refracting the suns rays into my eyeballs. The man is dressed in a non-discript tan trench-coat with a matching hat, and dark Rayban looking glasses, smoke is swirling thru his fingers as he brings his hand to his mouth to take a draw off his smoke. I scan his body and suddenly I feel as if someone has kicked me in the ribs and knocked the wind out of me.
What lay before my eyes I find it hard to believe, From underneath the trench-coat where a normal humans legs would be this 'thing' has legs of a horse complete with cloven hoofs as feet, I shake my head and quickly make the sign of the cross.
Life-goes-on
blazed the weed...
all I got left is fucking memories
he pulls a knife, you pull a gun send that motherfucker to the morgue
Crook County
Born a screw up?
Faded thoughts...
Life-goes-on
so I daily blow dope
screw-up
Its mid-summer bright and early one Sunday morning and am huddled and crumpled. My knees are jacked all the way up against my body in the hopes that my bodies position will hold off the swirling snakes that make up my innards, I pray to God that I can hold back there vomitous strike.
The warm sun feels great but I still am freezing fucking cold. On lookers glance out of the corners of there eyes and spy a dopefiend shaking like a leaf on a tree holding its own against a strong summer Thunderstorm.
-Padded walls
-How many blows, rocks, pills...
-Who are you
-Light the fuse and blow me the fuck up
I reach up and grab the payphone and use it as leverage to pull me to my feet, I feed the machine my change and listen to the phone ring... ring... ring...
Motherfucking cockhead bitch goddamn, (uncoherent babble) fuckface, ANSWER THE DAMN PHONE. Cra-c-c-k is the sound the handset makes and it slams into the metal receiver. I collapse to the ground ready to break down and do what?
Into my pocket comes out my trusty pharmy bottle, 8mgs of Klonapin I swallow. I knew I should brought a few more grams of dope with me before entering NYC, I spit and almost hit somebody(thing?).
I spy two kids walking down the block toward me that look promising.
-Long sleeves
-Nappy dreadlocks
-backpacks containing all there belongings
They are upon me as I muster up energy to expel my breath
Pssssst,... Hey man...?
Hey whats goin on kid
"Nothing man, sick as fuck my dealer is not up yet and I just pulled into town a few days ago and I am to sick to try and go get scammed in the park for some bullshit dope and I don't know anybody else... I...I..." - I blurt out throwing all I have into that one pitch.
Well todays your lucky day kid, whats your name?
Drew.
Well I am Brandon and this is Brenda (B&B) were always around.
He stretchs his arm out in the effort to give me a boost up to my feet, as I grab his hand I notice a tattoo on the underside of his wrist. It is a picture of a garbage can (typical aluminum can) with the words, LOW LIFE framing it on top and bottom. I decide to comment on it later as all I want is these kids fucking heroin.
Were on our way to the needle exchange it doesn't open for an hour, we are going for breakfast. How many do you want? Give me two I say as I hand him a twenty. Brandon leaves his backpack with Brenda and leads me into some lower-east side cafe. We dart into the bathroom behind the waiters back and I cook my fucking dope up in record speed, fastest barrel in the East, I would make any Traxxx star proud.
Time slows as I watch my blood mushroom-cloud into the barrel of the syringe. Images flash thru my head...
-Negative images of Atom bombs
-Dead bodies covering the street
-Sunlight dimmed out, sourcing from the clouds of black flies
-I can hear the flies buzzing, ready to land on my body as soon as I hit the pavement
-People hung from lamp-poles there eyes bulging out of there heads
-A lone Bible with its pages blowing in the wind
My knees grow weak as the heroin hits my chest I gasp for a breath and fall back onto the toilet seat, Ahh..ahhh...uhh.uuuhh...yea....goodshit. My savior disguised in ragged street clothes? Or a devil dipping his pitchfork in heroin? I throw my needle into the toilet and try to flush it. Spinning out of the bathroom the narcotic high spirals from my feet to the tips of the hair on my head.
On the street, I ask Brandon his name again and he asks me the same, I offer to buy breakfast which promptly gets shoveled up. I excuse myself and go buy a pack of roll up Drum tobacco. On my way to the corner store I pass a alleyway. Looking in I notice a man standing up against the wall, broken glass refracting the suns rays into my eyeballs. The man is dressed in a non-discript tan trench-coat with a matching hat, and dark Rayban looking glasses, smoke is swirling thru his fingers as he brings his hand to his mouth to take a draw off his smoke. I scan his body and suddenly I feel as if someone has kicked me in the ribs and knocked the wind out of me.
What lay before my eyes I find it hard to believe, From underneath the trench-coat where a normal humans legs would be this 'thing' has legs of a horse complete with cloven hoofs as feet, I shake my head and quickly make the sign of the cross.
Life-goes-on
blazed the weed...
all I got left is fucking memories
he pulls a knife, you pull a gun send that motherfucker to the morgue
Crook County
Born a screw up?
Faded thoughts...
Life-goes-on
