Give me your drug fantasy

Therapy is a cold plate treated
1st degree crime commited
Respect and hate to the anonymous donator of the sperm
which gave life to him who invated heroin and created the firm

spectral meets natural space
through a pipe within all grace
trapped in srectral by default?
fuck it men but it's your fault
now you'll be judged in spectral court

You're in hell,you're on fire
I'm a survivor,I'm a survivor
Fuck all those who don't believe
in my will for me to live
all the things I can achieve
fuck you Adam,fuck you Eve.

It'a matter of time when I die
I have no feelings,I cannot cry
I say I do but I don't try
I know I'm wrong but I wonder why

I'm playing dangerous tonight
there's nothing I can't do
a fucking mix of brown and white
wish you were in my shoe?

A real-unreal Monday and a dumb smile on my face
I can't control my body function I am a burned up case
Millions of pictures passing by while talking back to you
I'so confused I can't separate what's fake or what is true
My eyes are half closed and I sleep without any dreams
I visit a place where nothing there is exactly as it seems

HI my name is Simon III
and I am a recovering addict
I see now that she was my drug
I had her in every good and bad
moment
Funny part is that I have been high before and I never realised that I was also high on her

How do you erase years
how do you rench her our of my blood system
how do you get her out of my mind
I guess its true what they say drugs really do make you dumb.

Because part of me still wants it
Part of me still wants to be sedated

So am I wrong for thinking that Love is like Opium.
A form of escapism from the reality
a way to cope with all our troubles
or to simply use when we are happy

So what am I
Who am I without it
Who am I without the moments
I have gone through

So now all I have is some pride in order to pick myself up
and try to see if I can survive
while being clean.

so dear lord grant me
the serenity
to accept that there are things I cannot change

Maybe this isn't a worthy topic to be assosciated with drugs
but fact is we're all addicted to something
and now that I look back

it has become clear
that I was addicted to her

http://i1317.photobucket.com/albums/t623/curlycue23/spanish%20fly%2034_zpsmy2xggki.png

SPANISH FLY

Are stories of Spanish flies
Just a bunch of lies?

Because we’re about
To find out

Cause one just flew
Into your mouth

Anonymous said:<< post removed >>


I found this same poem written in May 2014 by a female.

http://hellopoetry.com/insincereapologies/

Brad--I sent you a PM;  please read and respond--thank you.

done.

Thanks Brad--all set

RX
At first it all seems ok,
After surgery,to make your pain go away

Swallow one down and then maybe 2
Its ok, the RX said thats what you should do

Does it matter that my pain aint all that bad?
Seeing all those pills could never make me sad

Never explained that my pain comes from within
My last thought before popping 2 more was these things should be a sin

With eyes closed theres no reason to shout
Be loud and piss me off, I will yell get the fuck out!

Now Im angry and need it go away
Reach for that bottle baby, theres aint shit left to say

Once they melt by all the acids inside
The amazing high you feel is hard to hide

The real pain isnt gone and behold more than one refill
Feeling like cloud 9 exists one you swallow just 1 more pill

The pharmacy calls, your smile is oh so grand
Feeling like a kid with candy once they are in my hand

No reason to grab water, juice or a Coke
Chew up three dry, my habit aint no joke

Looking in the mirror when this bottles gone
Wondering if your Dr will remember your famous song

Making up some shit so they will put you through
The Dr. OK'd your script, Im all aglow, its true

And if anyone ask, yes Im in pain
And then this hellish nightmare will begin all over again

(not on them now, but for a few years yes...it was a living nightmare. Like Freddy and Leatherface were force feeding me razor blades and the only thing to make the pain go away was to take just a few more...)

Water Gets Me Wet

I'm on water
drowning in it
like sorrow
and tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow
keeps at it's steady pace
keeps me sweaty faced
and I follow, follow, follow
mermaids riding dolphins
drinking in the sunshine
knocked out by the punchline
amphibians in the lunch line
swimming in a river of borrowed time
I'm too low to get high
too fallen to trip
throw some water on my face
the music
oblivion sunsets
sun goes down
and I still drown
in water

Sunny and humid
A beach day at last
Towel spread amid
the sparkling sand which is warming fast

Rode my bike to the spot
where the tide recedes early
Bikini and tee shirt; it is hot
I flip off my pink sandals off, which are too girly

And slide the little square paper on my tongue
Without a care in the world, I lay down
and wait for the fun
and for all absence of sound

Ten minutes is all it will take
to feel the rush and movement of goose bumps
I figured this trip would last about six hours, give or take
before I once again feel the rhythm of life and my blood pump

Until then, I detach, unable to open my eyes
as I prepare for the long ride
Pumping fists, into the sand I feel my big toe pry
I hear music and secrets from which I cannot hide

I sit up and flick sand off my towel
and imagine the crystals each melting into the sunbeam
off and away I go, toward a wicked good hell
I'm euphoric but am too frozen to scream

From this windowpain
of fear, I feel weightless
and I lay back down.  I want to fly but I refrain
My arms flail, it is altitude that I hope to gain

As my heart beats, I feel it heaving
bringing with it my chest
and I try to focus but am unable to do anything except keep up while I go in and out of body, breathing at best

There is no clarity or organization in my mind
and unable to get up or turn over, my skin is burning
I do not know anything about time
or even that I should rotate and be turning

The impressions of heavy footsteps make their way out of my head
I am focused and intent on the task
of removing them, one after another, like soldiers of the undead
I try to recognize the next one and forget the last

For a moment, I am aware of being vulnerable and alone
but I decide that being helpless is a gift
and my mind is able to rise above any fear that is shown
and it makes a paradigm shift

to opening my eyes after what seems like a short time
I see a bicycle standing on its kickstand
beside me, alone, I forget that it is mine
and instead, I watch its tires as they melt into the sand

"Wow, man," I said out loud "this is outta sight...
and really far out...
someone isn't going to make it home tonight...
to myself I say to that:  "no doubt"

And then it starts, the bad trippin'
when I realize that bicycle is mine
my psyche starts flippin'
but I put my finger into the sand and draw a line

Deciding that I cannot cross over
to the bad side, I remain still
I hear music and feel drunk even though I am sober
I feel naked and warm with a bit of a chill

WTF is that noise I keep hearing
I look up and see a million planes
I feel them dropping onto my skin like rain
Oh wait a minute, it is raining

Lugubrious

Lucid penile fracture
Opulent dark surgery
Officious mates coming
Pains just incorrigible
Please stop extolling
Exult the dime time
Never castigate drugs
Celibacy happens too.

Primogenito..fucking awesome!

sure was, I mean is. Ha

A psychotic breakdown is the same as tripping on acid,
only it doesn't stop!
There are peaks and dips,
an occasional moment of lucidity,
then the whole thing returns with added intensity!
visions draw themselves.  Stains morph on bare concrete
become pictures of prophecy.
voices sound out radio dramas that went on
while you were inutero.
music that's never been, from anywhere, soundtracks
your visions, and the voices.
It lasts until sometime after
you quit taking the hospital meds.
You don't know if what you're processing
comes from outside or from within.
Ideas you'd never entertain dance like
skeletons rolling out of a closet.
You test in various ways: passage of time,
holding bread in closed fist until
the next time you find lucidity.  Surprised to find
you’re holding mold.
Test the direction of voices and other noises,
by raising your head from the pillow because if
there are no microwave transmissions, then micro speakers!
Radio messages directed at you.
TV reactions to your rec-room movements.
You're led to believe you hold The Answer.
You're led to believe you are Christ.
You break rank long enough to ask,
"Who's doing the leading?"

You envision a dead rock star
three years before he is shot down.
And you don't quite know why
you think he is the devil,
after all, you love this man and his music.
That's how it feels.

Three years later
You wake, crying, from a dream of Central Park
(to which you've never been)
and people singing  
songs of peace and of love,
songs led by the rock star and his wife.
It was a happy dream, yet you woke up in tears.
You say to yourself, "Why are you crying?
That crusty bastard's got at least
another twenty years in him!"
You resist the urge to go to NY.
Two days later, you're proven wrong
about the star's longevity.

This is how it feel to have a psychotic breakdown.
If not, then I have every reason to be paranoid.