Sometimes on sunny Sundays I stare out the sky-light...
Stirring up the cauldron of memories in my mind, a time where Sweet Nothing was the only thing that ever mattered. Ungroomed and unshaven. A random using partner sitting shotgun babbling on about the latest death, overdose, rehab stint, fuck, what street spots are selling decent dope, take your pick.
Music swirls through the pungent smell of some local homegrown seeming to slow down the particles of dust that slide in and out of the shade. Junk time frozen on a popsicle stick.
Burned out residues,
Recipes of illusion
Emotional void
broken rigs
shattered dreams
tie'd die'd bleach
We snake up LSD up to the North Side of Chicago, the gutters stained with last nights mixed drinks. Salted, greased, and released. Worthless banter floats in one ear and out another, sick for a fix. She pulls out the last few little, yellowish rocks from the 8th'er of smack I procured for her a few daze past.
Asking if I want a shot? I shake my head back and forth as I snake my fingers through my pocket grabbing a few lonely Ativan and sucking on them like a lozenge. The cardboard taste makes me shudder I surely would be puking green foam if it wasnt for that 4mg rush of Dilaudid that opened my eyes into the darkness of the day. Narcotic cornacopia blurred by the black flies that shield my eyes from the glimmers of hope outside the car.
Dip trip to the the dream dragon
please leave us here
close our eyes to the octopus rhyme
The madcap laughs as I drop into a lower gear, lurching the car and almost spilling Heathers' ladle of heroin. No words are spoken just a splintered frown I catch riding on the breeze. Golden nectar and used, grey, cigarette cottons, hourly crack hotels, energetic numbing pollen the drunken caterpillar morph's
Sitting in a Sport's bar a cold 9 dollar sandwich sits in front of me untouched. I hate people, families bringing there kids to watch the Cubs game, me and Heather, junked out and waiting to re-up. Where has all the laughter the gone today?
Pupil constriction choking of the realities of society as I slump on some gaudy pleather booth waiting for my favorite Nigerian drug dealer to grace me with a pile of persian puke. Intoxication and Inebreation, free refills!!!
Heather gets up and says she is going down the block to go look at shoe's, I mumble into my Cherry Cola, guess it doesnt matter anyway. Unconcious nod to the poppy provider. One hundred twenty-five dollars a gram for this hydraulic pressed heroin. I push 5 hundred across the table, a crumpled up napkin gets pushed back with 5 grams, seperated individually. If sold on the street these grams could be wacked 4 times and still produce a product that would entice drooling drug addicts from miles away.
Sometimes on sunny Sundays I stare out the sky-light...
Peace,
Seedless
Stirring up the cauldron of memories in my mind, a time where Sweet Nothing was the only thing that ever mattered. Ungroomed and unshaven. A random using partner sitting shotgun babbling on about the latest death, overdose, rehab stint, fuck, what street spots are selling decent dope, take your pick.
Music swirls through the pungent smell of some local homegrown seeming to slow down the particles of dust that slide in and out of the shade. Junk time frozen on a popsicle stick.
Burned out residues,
Recipes of illusion
Emotional void
broken rigs
shattered dreams
tie'd die'd bleach
We snake up LSD up to the North Side of Chicago, the gutters stained with last nights mixed drinks. Salted, greased, and released. Worthless banter floats in one ear and out another, sick for a fix. She pulls out the last few little, yellowish rocks from the 8th'er of smack I procured for her a few daze past.
Asking if I want a shot? I shake my head back and forth as I snake my fingers through my pocket grabbing a few lonely Ativan and sucking on them like a lozenge. The cardboard taste makes me shudder I surely would be puking green foam if it wasnt for that 4mg rush of Dilaudid that opened my eyes into the darkness of the day. Narcotic cornacopia blurred by the black flies that shield my eyes from the glimmers of hope outside the car.
Dip trip to the the dream dragon
please leave us here
close our eyes to the octopus rhyme
The madcap laughs as I drop into a lower gear, lurching the car and almost spilling Heathers' ladle of heroin. No words are spoken just a splintered frown I catch riding on the breeze. Golden nectar and used, grey, cigarette cottons, hourly crack hotels, energetic numbing pollen the drunken caterpillar morph's
Sitting in a Sport's bar a cold 9 dollar sandwich sits in front of me untouched. I hate people, families bringing there kids to watch the Cubs game, me and Heather, junked out and waiting to re-up. Where has all the laughter the gone today?
Pupil constriction choking of the realities of society as I slump on some gaudy pleather booth waiting for my favorite Nigerian drug dealer to grace me with a pile of persian puke. Intoxication and Inebreation, free refills!!!
Heather gets up and says she is going down the block to go look at shoe's, I mumble into my Cherry Cola, guess it doesnt matter anyway. Unconcious nod to the poppy provider. One hundred twenty-five dollars a gram for this hydraulic pressed heroin. I push 5 hundred across the table, a crumpled up napkin gets pushed back with 5 grams, seperated individually. If sold on the street these grams could be wacked 4 times and still produce a product that would entice drooling drug addicts from miles away.
Sometimes on sunny Sundays I stare out the sky-light...
Peace,
Seedless
