deepundergroundpoetry.com
Lawless & Lost (fucked with fusion)
It’s just a little insane, the thought that, even after growing up surrounded by drug addicts… people who really never gave a fuck about anything more then the drugs they did, the dealers that dealt them and themselves, in that order, can still manage to hurt me, and I still manage to care about them. After so many years of watching there constant up and downs, being treated like I matter, only to be made to feel like complete shit five minutes later. Anyone else in the world would have so quickly just said “fuck you” and left, erasing any and all memories of them, but I just can’t. I guess I’ve always just been unable to except the fact that, no matter how hard I try, I will always be little more then nothing in there eyes, but even still, I’m always going to love them.
I’ve been around this shit so long now, it’s become the only family I’ve ever had, it’s all I’ve ever known. The only consistency within my life, the only one that’s ever been there, is the drugs. It’s become a love and hate kind of relationship. I love it, because it is all I’ve ever known, it’s the only material thing that seems to make the people around me happy, even when it’s obvious there really not. But more then I love, I hate. I hate everything about them, everything they make out of people. I’ve been forced to sit and watch, helplessly… hopelessly, as they turn good people, innocent minds, young hearts, into disgusting, horrible creatures. They only thing left to recognize them by, is there face… which in time is altered too. They get lured in to this tangled, lethal web, with the promises of happiness in place of pain, new friends with new outlooks on life, and a reason to have a “don’t give a fuck” type of attitude towards life… the opportunity to give the rest of the world the finger.
I hate that drugs were always the enemy in disguise, the unexpected cause of all my pain, that I should have been smart enough to expect all along. They had the ability to hurt me even when they weren’t directly involved in the bullshit… somehow they always had a connection. They crept up from behind.
I hate how there influence on my life has left its scent on me, in me… all around me. It’s the antagonist that created a vicious cycle that’s managed to wrap itself around me… suffocating me. Through all the long days, and the night spent awake and alone, I learned one thing about this life… there are people who are born to live, succeed and be happy, the normal people, and there are those who were born with no other purpose but to use, the already dead.
To the normal people, the scent left on us already dead is unmistakable when standing nearby. A repulsive perfume, it becomes much like a repellant, and a lesson to stay clear of those flaunting it. They walk away, left with little more then a bad taste left in there mouth which serves as a reminder of what they could have been, but would never want to be. However, to those who are already dead, inside more often then out, the scent left on others who are already dead can be smelled from miles away. It becomes an aphrodisiac to there addictions, and they carry themselves towards those bearing that musk, drawn in. There really is no escaping the scent, and once it’s on you, your marked forever.
So where does that leave those who were born to live, meant to be normal, but born into the wrong environment? For years now, stuck in a never ending battle, a tug-of-war between life and death, right and wrong… somehow we manage to be unwilling sucked down that hole, deep into the darkness. Miserable, and in unmistakable pain, but given the sight to see that we never did belong there, it’s not where we wanted to be. So we climb back up, nearly reaching freedom… almost getting away, but something grabs you, and drags you back down, every fucking time. It’s hard to escape when people you care about, the people around you, tell you everything is fine and your going to be alright… for a moment in time it feels like they really care, like you really matter.
But you can only fall on your face so many times before realizing that it’s all a big mistake, you shouldn’t be there, you don’t belong there. So again we climb back up and this time, we continue to climb, even as the people around us, our own “friends”, try to make us believe we can’t do it, and promise we’ll come running back in no time at all. You finally reach the top, stand yourself up and dust yourself off. One last glance back to the hell you’ve just narrowly escaped, but instead you see your own reflection staring back at you, and for the first time in years, you don’t hate the person you see in yourself.
But were still not really free, and we never really will be. Were still drenched in the stench the past has fully soaked us in… and no amount of soap and boiling hot water will ever disguise it. Those who are already dead, there still magnetically attracted to you, it’s there primal instinct, and the normal people, with the exception of a small few, will still run, fast and far, away from you. Until this smell eventually wears off, were still trapped, though the fight is no longer with the drugs themselves. Now your battle is with those already dead, and at times yourself. See, the thing about them, is that once they’ve caught a whiff of that sour musk, they’ll go to any and all lengths to see that you’re drug back down with them, and if you are to refuse, well, you mine as well be wearing a target on your back.
Refusal to be seduced back into there hell, is an obscene insult in there eyes. It’s admitting to them that you believe you are better then all that they live, die and stand for. It’s an invitation for them to use all means necessary to destroy you until your weakened enough to give in all over again. They have the ability to turn the world against us, lying that we’re just far enough gone to know how to keep our addictions and demons a secret from the normal people. They have a bigger impact then you could ever believe.
In the end, no one will trust us, the normal people fear us, and the already dead hate us. You’re left out, stranded alone and stuck outside in the cold, wet storm. We have no one to turn to anymore. We lost, even though we really did win.
I’ve been around this shit so long now, it’s become the only family I’ve ever had, it’s all I’ve ever known. The only consistency within my life, the only one that’s ever been there, is the drugs. It’s become a love and hate kind of relationship. I love it, because it is all I’ve ever known, it’s the only material thing that seems to make the people around me happy, even when it’s obvious there really not. But more then I love, I hate. I hate everything about them, everything they make out of people. I’ve been forced to sit and watch, helplessly… hopelessly, as they turn good people, innocent minds, young hearts, into disgusting, horrible creatures. They only thing left to recognize them by, is there face… which in time is altered too. They get lured in to this tangled, lethal web, with the promises of happiness in place of pain, new friends with new outlooks on life, and a reason to have a “don’t give a fuck” type of attitude towards life… the opportunity to give the rest of the world the finger.
I hate that drugs were always the enemy in disguise, the unexpected cause of all my pain, that I should have been smart enough to expect all along. They had the ability to hurt me even when they weren’t directly involved in the bullshit… somehow they always had a connection. They crept up from behind.
I hate how there influence on my life has left its scent on me, in me… all around me. It’s the antagonist that created a vicious cycle that’s managed to wrap itself around me… suffocating me. Through all the long days, and the night spent awake and alone, I learned one thing about this life… there are people who are born to live, succeed and be happy, the normal people, and there are those who were born with no other purpose but to use, the already dead.
To the normal people, the scent left on us already dead is unmistakable when standing nearby. A repulsive perfume, it becomes much like a repellant, and a lesson to stay clear of those flaunting it. They walk away, left with little more then a bad taste left in there mouth which serves as a reminder of what they could have been, but would never want to be. However, to those who are already dead, inside more often then out, the scent left on others who are already dead can be smelled from miles away. It becomes an aphrodisiac to there addictions, and they carry themselves towards those bearing that musk, drawn in. There really is no escaping the scent, and once it’s on you, your marked forever.
So where does that leave those who were born to live, meant to be normal, but born into the wrong environment? For years now, stuck in a never ending battle, a tug-of-war between life and death, right and wrong… somehow we manage to be unwilling sucked down that hole, deep into the darkness. Miserable, and in unmistakable pain, but given the sight to see that we never did belong there, it’s not where we wanted to be. So we climb back up, nearly reaching freedom… almost getting away, but something grabs you, and drags you back down, every fucking time. It’s hard to escape when people you care about, the people around you, tell you everything is fine and your going to be alright… for a moment in time it feels like they really care, like you really matter.
But you can only fall on your face so many times before realizing that it’s all a big mistake, you shouldn’t be there, you don’t belong there. So again we climb back up and this time, we continue to climb, even as the people around us, our own “friends”, try to make us believe we can’t do it, and promise we’ll come running back in no time at all. You finally reach the top, stand yourself up and dust yourself off. One last glance back to the hell you’ve just narrowly escaped, but instead you see your own reflection staring back at you, and for the first time in years, you don’t hate the person you see in yourself.
But were still not really free, and we never really will be. Were still drenched in the stench the past has fully soaked us in… and no amount of soap and boiling hot water will ever disguise it. Those who are already dead, there still magnetically attracted to you, it’s there primal instinct, and the normal people, with the exception of a small few, will still run, fast and far, away from you. Until this smell eventually wears off, were still trapped, though the fight is no longer with the drugs themselves. Now your battle is with those already dead, and at times yourself. See, the thing about them, is that once they’ve caught a whiff of that sour musk, they’ll go to any and all lengths to see that you’re drug back down with them, and if you are to refuse, well, you mine as well be wearing a target on your back.
Refusal to be seduced back into there hell, is an obscene insult in there eyes. It’s admitting to them that you believe you are better then all that they live, die and stand for. It’s an invitation for them to use all means necessary to destroy you until your weakened enough to give in all over again. They have the ability to turn the world against us, lying that we’re just far enough gone to know how to keep our addictions and demons a secret from the normal people. They have a bigger impact then you could ever believe.
In the end, no one will trust us, the normal people fear us, and the already dead hate us. You’re left out, stranded alone and stuck outside in the cold, wet storm. We have no one to turn to anymore. We lost, even though we really did win.
Published 20th Jan 2010
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