[Don't judge my intelligence by this]
Nobody to talk to. Nothing to do but melt my brain with pornography, as the descent begins.
I keep ending up here, alone and empty and melodramatic and introspective and too stupid to express it in any kind of legitimate artistic form.
I used to be smart, I swear.
I used to want to write, but re-reading my journal of drug induced rants degrades my writing ability so.
Methamphetamine has been a part of my life since birth. I lived in it's shadow growing up. The shadow of destruction and depravity. My first memories are those of my mother, having meth induced sex, involved in violence. It was foreshadowing. A taste of the cold.
21 years have passed since my my conception, and I am my mother's son.
I love dope. I have far surpassed my mom's addiction.
I stick needles in my arm. I can stick fifty dollars in my arm without a second though.
I love dope more than anything in the world. I don't hate it either, even though I should. I hate whatever stands in the way of having more.
Health problems, money problems, no real relationships anymore.
I am a willing slave.
But then moments of clarity strike.
Horrified and ashamed of my life.
The waste. I used to be smart.
My mom had a masters in special education. She taught autistic children. Despite her addiction, she made something of herself.
Only to have it taken away by dope.
I've been spent my entire life seeing and experiencing the consequences of dope, but here I am. On my knees. Before the destroyer. I need to run. But I have nowhere left to run to. Penniless, living in my best friends house rent free on the floor, families turned their back on me.
And I used to be so smart.
Today I'm gonna do something.
I'm gonna go brave the city, coming down. Take it like the hardened drug addict I am. Look for a job.
Now! Before I have time to write any more drug induced shameless self-pity (it's not even well written!)
Nobody to talk to. Nothing to do but melt my brain with pornography, as the descent begins.
I keep ending up here, alone and empty and melodramatic and introspective and too stupid to express it in any kind of legitimate artistic form.
I used to be smart, I swear.
I used to want to write, but re-reading my journal of drug induced rants degrades my writing ability so.
Methamphetamine has been a part of my life since birth. I lived in it's shadow growing up. The shadow of destruction and depravity. My first memories are those of my mother, having meth induced sex, involved in violence. It was foreshadowing. A taste of the cold.
21 years have passed since my my conception, and I am my mother's son.
I love dope. I have far surpassed my mom's addiction.
I stick needles in my arm. I can stick fifty dollars in my arm without a second though.
I love dope more than anything in the world. I don't hate it either, even though I should. I hate whatever stands in the way of having more.
Health problems, money problems, no real relationships anymore.
I am a willing slave.
But then moments of clarity strike.
Horrified and ashamed of my life.
The waste. I used to be smart.
My mom had a masters in special education. She taught autistic children. Despite her addiction, she made something of herself.
Only to have it taken away by dope.
I've been spent my entire life seeing and experiencing the consequences of dope, but here I am. On my knees. Before the destroyer. I need to run. But I have nowhere left to run to. Penniless, living in my best friends house rent free on the floor, families turned their back on me.
And I used to be so smart.
Today I'm gonna do something.
I'm gonna go brave the city, coming down. Take it like the hardened drug addict I am. Look for a job.
Now! Before I have time to write any more drug induced shameless self-pity (it's not even well written!)
