deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Drug
Sometimes the bed comes to me
when I'm flying on a heavy cloud
and still suffering with dry mouth
and too bruised to reach the tap,
marvelous,
in Mother's arms where she passed the buck. Are you still with me, kid?
Take one of these. Snowflake upon tongue.
Filth, you love it.
When the shop's shut
two hours early, only got me to rely on for cigarettes now.
Keep the conversation snappy,
explain where the hypodermic goes
and if you're happy
keep it to yourself.
Pull your coat around your throat
or you'll catch cold.
Slow down, slow down,
inhale, enhance your experience.
It spins. It spins. Spin. Spin. Slow that teacup now, Alice.
Your fingertips trip across the edge of my black stockings,
my knees lightly-tremble, weakened by rebellion.
You and me, it works, you know? For at least an hour or two.
Fair exchange for a cigarette,
skirt down, jeans zipped.
Now fuck off, you prick.
Sometimes my bed comes to me
when I'm flying like a heavy cloud
and I don't need anyone
to wake me in the morning
for the room smells of stale smoke
and I've grown quite contented
waking up alone.
when I'm flying on a heavy cloud
and still suffering with dry mouth
and too bruised to reach the tap,
marvelous,
in Mother's arms where she passed the buck. Are you still with me, kid?
Take one of these. Snowflake upon tongue.
Filth, you love it.
When the shop's shut
two hours early, only got me to rely on for cigarettes now.
Keep the conversation snappy,
explain where the hypodermic goes
and if you're happy
keep it to yourself.
Pull your coat around your throat
or you'll catch cold.
Slow down, slow down,
inhale, enhance your experience.
It spins. It spins. Spin. Spin. Slow that teacup now, Alice.
Your fingertips trip across the edge of my black stockings,
my knees lightly-tremble, weakened by rebellion.
You and me, it works, you know? For at least an hour or two.
Fair exchange for a cigarette,
skirt down, jeans zipped.
Now fuck off, you prick.
Sometimes my bed comes to me
when I'm flying like a heavy cloud
and I don't need anyone
to wake me in the morning
for the room smells of stale smoke
and I've grown quite contented
waking up alone.
Published 14th Feb 2012
| Edited 17th Feb 2012
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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comments 8
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Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
14th Feb 2012 1:10am
Excellent imagery here; every word is used to help create the speaker. The effect of the whole thing is to perfectly delineate the speaker's life (thoughts, experiences, mannerisms) as it stands at that point in time.
14th Feb 2012 1:11am
Each thought in the piece contains contended Clarity.Snowflakes-awesome metaphor, you must have appreciated yourself for that.
14th Feb 2012 10:58am
17th Feb 2012 3:13am
LA
:-)
What a start and what an end..Really
and in the middle..this...
'You and me, it works, you know?
For at least an hour or two.
Fair exchange for a cigarette,
skirt down, jeans zipped...'
(A blitzkreig this was!)
What you do best.:)
Sumeet
p.s- On my second read, I felt the
absence of an article. Just me.
'and still suffering__dry mouth'
and here...
'Your fingertips trip across the edge
of___ black stockings, (my?)
:-)
What a start and what an end..Really
and in the middle..this...
'You and me, it works, you know?
For at least an hour or two.
Fair exchange for a cigarette,
skirt down, jeans zipped...'
(A blitzkreig this was!)
What you do best.:)
Sumeet
p.s- On my second read, I felt the
absence of an article. Just me.
'and still suffering__dry mouth'
and here...
'Your fingertips trip across the edge
of___ black stockings, (my?)
17th Feb 2012 9:22am
19th Feb 2012 1:57am
19th Feb 2012 9:05am
