Nothing like it...

Nothing like it. Tripping into any level of a drug frenzy and nestling comfortably in that hole til it all caves in on you. Two weeks in and you start to admit what its doing to you. Fourteen days of hard hitting and swollen teeth, you taste it. Two weeks of quintessential thought lost in the media and other such shit to make the white around your fingernails burn. Three hundred and thirty six hours advertising the walls with the slipping crown of a wordsmith. Huddled in the corner by the three hundred and thirty seventh, offering up gifts to discovered growth beyond the sphere. Sickeneing how easily time is lost and spent in substance all at once. By the third week the effects start to leak to whatever sexual organ you may posses and you fall hard into the grip of impotence. But it doesn't matter, because your still tripping strong. Half way through that third week you realize youre too weak to lick your own wounds... metaphorical or pussing. This is when you sober up. Not chemically... oh no the trip doesnt end there, the binge wont tumble away with just this thought. But your mind is sober... your conscience. You think like all the narsisistic sheep around you that you'd been laughing at for the past month. More sober than you've ever been. It may last for only a minute before you jump back across the line to the reality you know. This is when you sink. You sink... it may be sinking into comfort. It may be sinking into fear but oohhhh do you sink. Do you ever. If your fortunate enough to have a mattress to sink into then you can blame the sensation on that. But if all you have is a floor board or two... it'll only take a few flickering eyelashes to lose your mind completely.





(To be continued... and from there... published *sticks out chest... not for boob purposes... for PRIIIIIIIIIIDE purposes.*)
They filled me full of drink
And led me round the rooms
Naked and cold and grinning
Until everything went black
And I came down spinning
I awoke so drunk and full of rage
That I could hardly speak
A fag in a whale bone corset
Draping his dick across my cheek
And its into the shame
Post edited by Unknown User on

Comments

  • Very True Indeed
    "I get into a state of consciousness that I can't explain. It is about feeling and not thinking. I get positive chills and insight into things that I can't get to any other way. It is Healing of the Soul." - Mike McCready
  • coleencoleen Posts: 938
    don't know how i missed this one, but i'm glad i stopped by.

    well deserved congrats to you!
  • oldermanolderman Posts: 1,765
    i have to admit this fairly well describes an experience or three.. i could not describe it as well as you have written it.. hold your head up and keep on thinking free...

    the jammers love you
    Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
    As she slams the door in his drunken face
    And now he stands outside
    And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
    He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
    What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
    Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
    And his tears fall and burn the garden green
  • that is amazingly done.

    I hate to keep referencing other works, but I guess I'm going to do it anyway -- have you read the short story I think J.T. LeRoy wrote it -- it's about a guy coming to terms with his addiction to heroine in a dentist's office while the foofighters everlong is playing -- I think it's J.T. Anyway this reminds me of that. If nothing else because of the subject matter.
  • It definitely is the JT LeRoy story that this reminds me of. I just reread it. Its title is "Untitled"

    and it's not the subject matter, it's also the imagery.

    It is so nice to see someone swell from pride in his writing. That's a better feeling than anything in the world; well, maybe that's hyperbole, but.
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