Crystal Meth


Pumped up on that chalky sunshine,

The moon is fading to another vicious morning.

Spent my hours beneath the starlight in the wind,

Lovingly hitting repeat on every action I’d begin.

Glassed eyes and withered muscles ache,

Blood thundering past a thirst impossible to slake.

The ride was hot and heavy to the top,

Until we picked up speed enough to never stop.

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He was a cat, and lived in a pink room.


 

Living like a cat last summer,

Couldn’t afford sheets or real food,

But the room was a soft pink,

And the lumpy mattress felt softer than the bricks.

 

Living like a cat I was,

Crawling under piles of clothes to nap,

Eating cans of tuna (pocket sized),

Basking in the sun so the shade felt cooler.

 

Cat life is great for those critters,

But at 6’+ and a bundle of seething “more,”

It’s feline for some but didn’t sit right on me,

So I’ll gladly hand it back this time around.

 

Feeling a bit more canine today.

 

Though cans of tuna still roll free,

I have a forever human to lick,

Hopefully I’ll get older than a pup –

— goddamn pet control still wants to lock me up.

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The Pink Room in its Reflective Glory

Elegantly Disturbed Haikus – #1


wearing an embryo,
would prefer a large flopping sombrero,
small skin means tight fit.

bedazzled rodents fly,
as shockingly agile bullets,
spreading feet like wings.

plastic horror show,
melts to a puddle of goop,
Barbie versus torch.

 

Madness in the Museum — Charlie Zero The Poet


Shibboleth gossip sucking sobriety – Invidia Cielo E Magick phlegm archives bleed the child withdrawn. Alternate you executed each. That anxiety comes from coyotes. Splinter gash the ever caprice peptic. Wagner strangles his virtual appendix. Genocide glow sarcasm one off demon, a torso floating graffiti, please bore my pain 6. Multiplying eradication, Plow pulls angel […]

via Madness in the Museum — Charlie Zero The Poet

Santa, Crystal Meth, a Cave, and a stuck car…


Here’s my brain, jumbled – uncorrected, fragmented, spelled wrong, poorly if at all edited….here is my brain, and all the events that lead me to today, one leapfrog memory to the next…

“You’ve got stories brother. Unbelievable, stupid, mind blowing, bizarre stories. Seriously, what is wrong with you?” –  Detox Allstars

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So this is where it’s all supposed to start. A basic outline, an imagining of sorts where I’m supposed to explore all the small little fucking spider webbed fragments of memories that are housed in the jumbled attic of my mind. What a blissfully wonderful, simple, and ridiculously overwhelming challenge.

I’d so dearly love to string everything together….which is clearly why I’m avoiding even beginning to think about a specific story to start the unfolding thereof.

So where to begin….

That dumb bitch had been pissed off at her boyfriend. It had started when we were playing that endless methed out game of Uno in the trailer across from Morgan’s. I don’t even know what had started her off. I think I assumed that I had something to do with it. I know I wasn’t wearing shoes. We had finally succeeded in getting Morgan’s poor boyfriend with his braces to start smoking with us. Poor bastard was just as far gone as I was and then some. I felt bad for him in the way I would a lost little puppy. Envious of his huge pupils. I loved the way eyes began to look when the black started to eat its way through the color. It was the end of clean thoughts, it was the end of humanity. It was like being carried away into the security of knowing that you weren’t there anymore. There was a peaceful fascination and raging wildness in it. I would lose myself in my own any time I caught sight of them in the mirror. Sickly enormous puddles of oily depths that offered nothing and dragged me into a world of absolute freedom where I could indulge the most whimsical or craven whim simply to sate an instant desire.

Why we jumped in her car or where we were headed I don’t know. Somewhere out of town. I was at the tail end of still owing the woman I had been babysitting for money after that horrible tear through town with everything she had strapped to my ankle. Like always after I had been awake for days things were snapping into blurs of disconnected focus without any attachment.

It didn’t used to be like that. When I had first started hitting ye ol’ crystal I could hold my shit together like a champion swimmer sucking oxygen before the final turn. Sleep deprivation was something that happened – par for the course my friend. We were tweakers and it was important that you were able to get used to your mind function sufficiently to continue funneling the ever so necessary funds to procure the ever so necessary chemicals to continue fueling the body. Otherwise you would stop moving….and that would mean going to sleep, which meant confronting the real world and it’s sad and pathetic real speed. With all the sad, worried, angry, threatening, concerned faces of those who care about you trying to figure out what to do next. Or worse, not trying to do anything. Then there would come the process of looking for all the things that you hadn’t realized you’d lost, spent, broken, misplaced, destroyed, sold, overdrawn, made promises about, lied about, etc….wreckage, wreckage, wreckage.

No, sleep deprivation wasn’t such a bad thing, as long as you could hold your shit together mentally enough to keep the fun going. Which I did wonderfully well for the first bit. Everyone else seemed to enjoy pushing it to a couple days. Say 48-72hrs.

Fucking pathetic. I was doing that on willpower when I was 10. Though when I got curious after my climbing coach’s story about caffeine pills and ate 32 of them at once when I was 12 and put myself in the ER it should have been a pretty significant warning sign that I wasn’t too worried about stimulants if they were going to be able to get me where I thought it was I wanted to go.

But I digress….

Continue reading Santa, Crystal Meth, a Cave, and a stuck car…