HABITS

Notes I Wrote

Some drew hearts, some played games
Some wrote letters hinting at names
But for some reason on the edge of a sheet
I always wrote words and kept them discrete

All the time in class during the professor’s lecture
I barely paid attention as I was off on my venture
For somewhere in the notes I wrote some verses
Escaping to a fantasy that my head still rehearses

High school and college notes had something inscribed
Limericks and stanzas that I‘d later revive
Even after all this time I never lost the habit
When the idea comes to me I just have to grab it

Now I have note books, word docs and spreadsheets
Filled with lines and rhymes mixed in with beats
It’s a custom I know I’ll never get rid of or want to quit
But I love the chaos of words that became the fire I lit

Still to this day I find bits and pieces of paper
Like little reminders of those little capers
It takes me back to different scenes and dreams
Of times gone by lost down in the stream

And when I have the time I gather those scattered words
I play with them, strum and drum them no matter how absurd
Until I get something satisfying that makes me smile
Until the next time they fall on me it makes it worthwhile

Hated Silhouette Of Crystal Meth ! extreme content !
There was a hooker
      Called my fateful bluff
           Entered my veins
              No longer guiding life's reigns

Crystal mixed with a speck of water
   Eyes affix their silvery, staring  spin        
              Attempts to escape dungeons realm
                      Register crystalline death within the  syringe

Ace's and eights the dead mans hand
   Scales rusted from drops of bloody blooded pinpricks                
         Time after time sobriety but a frozen memory
                 Finish line devoid of temporal trophies

Burning their flames of insane calamity
            Joined at the meeting of steel penetrating flesh
                   Thought it was a game; always a gambler, up the ante
                           Shame and rage consume bloodstreams misdirection

Clawing for release; demons curse in my mind
         Damning the synapses fucking the tweaker in vain
                   Reflection of hollow, sunken eyes loom in the mirror
                           Was it worth lifelong debt, to feel the snakebite?

No Harm Done

Follow me  
I’ll bring you to my pusher  
with a pssssst down an alley way  
he doesn’t call to me  
I walk brazenly into his store  
where I also happen to purchase  
a fuel fix for my car  
   
My mouth waters  
greeted with panoply of possibilities  
to sate my vice  
do I crave chips or cheese puffs  
perhaps a candy bar or two or three  
life wouldn’t be in balance  
without a package of cookies  
oh and I can’t forget my protein  
beef jerky presented in all varieties  
mmmmm I’m feeling better already  
   
Now what to wash it down with  
in this I am so sensible  
I always select soda pop  
that is sugar-free or nearly so  
these magic beverages  
nullify any of the harmful effects  
of my other snack choices  
I can be so damn smart sometimes  
   
Location, location, location  
where to consume my sweet ‘n’ salty hoard  
I’ll start small in the car on the way home  
that takes 2 minutes  
sneak the rest past familiar security  
to the safety and acceptance of my bedroom  
fire up the laptop  
watch my favorite shows online  
or perhaps write some poetry  
while slipping into a junk-food orgasm  
my sumptuous habit won't kill me  
at least not tonight

(Not my best. More for reflection than intent to compete.)

Stomach (Eyes Flit Down)

Every time I approach a mirror
to double-take at the naked work of art standing there,
the admiration flies up through my throat
and beckons up a smile -
oh, how I admire, and stare,
and notice all the muscles there;

without a thought, though,
perfect eyes both flit down
to the one thing I can't stand;
I growl at my stomach
and wish in a trance
that my damned uterus would quit slouching to stand;

there's a curve there I hate,
and although, as of late,
I have showered myself in the battle with hate,
I can grin at my skin
and the gold hues it blends;
eyes flit down, though:
by habit, I want to suck in.

But the difference,
you see,
is that this little pain
in the gut -
it is weakening
more with each day.