junk puppet

Weak in the knees junk orgasm floods my brain washing away stinging pain. My eyes flutter and I need to catch myself from falling as the syringe flops about my scabby forearm. A pin-prick hollow needle nosebleed and I recline into a soft ratty couch and my eyeballs roll and lolly gag around the top of my skull like googly muppet eyes.

“ Titanic.” “ Dead End.” “Last Dance.”... Street junk... always so appropriately named.

I turn to a blank wall and ask “ H-Hey Gia. Thirsty? I-I think I have some orange juice in the fridge. He-help yourself to some.” I nod away losing my train of thought and settle into blank skeleton smile as I stare at the raindrop lite-brite pattern on the window. Complete silence except for the incessant “pink, pink” of dripping water in the rusty porcelain bathtub. Alone except the company of roaches scuttling along walls and barren cabinets.

“ D.O.A.” “ Final confession.” “ Last rites.”

I took Extacy to escape the thought of you. I’d lose myself in the music, the touch, the lights, smells, and the scene. I tried to escape you and ironically it brought me closer to you. I obsessively thought of you every time I would lose myself. I remember how you told me you wanted to bear my children once when we were rolling. You knew their names even. Who told you, God? I wish I could disappear in that moment forever. Anyways.......... brutal comedowns every night tossing and turning under sticky sheets cold sweat torturous thoughts of you… of us. One night a friend of mine offered me junk cause he knew how hard the comedowns took their toll on my brain and body. Beginnings leading to ends leading to more beginnings.

“ Body Bag.” “ White lady.” “ Silence of the Lamb.”

Death is an escape from life. Numb is an escape from pain. Sometimes I’d rather be numb and dead than face the consequences of misguided (in)action.

Skin and bone shit-sack too tired to bathe or take a whores bath even at least to wash away dumpster grime and dried piss. Folgers coffee tin can sits in dark corner watching. It's full of buzzing shit coiled maggot filth and my asshole burns with unholy fire. A scabby itching all along my spine and scalp. Too tired to scratch or eat or dream. Too numb...

I close my eyes and I remember your manicured fingers and the beautiful salvation they brung.