Downtown in the middle of the night.
To make a deal well out of sight.
For the junk and that flash of light.
A dose of poison to put me right.
I feed my head to continue to write.
The streets are quite but so alive.
With hookers, heroine and all that jive.
A junkie’s medicine helps me revive.
This wicked life where I thrive.
Such a horrific way to survive.
Hoping to get a little closer to God,
And ignoring that my logics so flawed.
On a wall, I'm propped like a tripod.
I stick my veins with a lightning rod.
Sliding to the ground I begin to nod.
Suffer the needle loving the pen.
Why do I keep coming back again?
Just tripping not writing.
The lie is just so inviting.
Killing the plans of mice and men.
I'll be like John Lennon you'll see.
Expanding my mind to a degree.
Meaningful prose and Yorkshire Tea.
With all my monsters, dark and beastly.
Fighting to surface from deep inside me.
Dark monsters with evil histories.
Each with its own set of Liabilities.
Oozing with truth and Blasp