Friday, September 17, 2010

A poem i wrote for Above the Influence.
I have a good time writing poems that obviously wont get submitted. Lets post some heart-felt stories about 'a friends' drug addiction!
I still remember the cry of our 3 year old baby girl
The way she screamed when her face
Delved into the concrete because she was high.
Why did you do this to her?
All she wanted was another hit from a pipe.
And I saw an empty shell of who she once was
Who YOU once were.
You might have felt good for the moment
But the dope made you a monster
and I dont know how to save your soul.
As for the child she is bound
In dope's harmful grasp
And I remember
All she wanted was another hit.


  1. "My once-friend"

    How can you say that to me
    That you were "rollin"
    You were on E

    All i wanted to do was say
    You had it all
    You were on your way

    But now youve murdered my heart
    Your foul drug abuse
    Is just tearing me apart.

    You did it to be cool, didnt you?
    You were once a friend
    But you ditched me for your krew

    We had all kinds of fun
    eating chips in the sun
    The days of childhood i hold dear
    Makes me wish my once-friend was here.

  2. Why did you touch the meth pipe?
    Did you think you were COOL?
    Well earth to marty.
    Youre not.
    Oh yeah, and the POT you smoked?
    It wasnt COOL either.
    I know you have problems but dont get high.
    Take it from an acquaintance whose mom knows your mom.

  3. In the light of the joint's cherry
    You smile an empty smile
    For a small time you are merry
    But it only lasts awhile.

    In the presence of your family
    You seemed to dissipate
    Going to your room constantly
    To smoke and dissociate.

    In the fog of your atrophied brain
    you mutter demented words
    As the serosis causes you pain
    You say youre with the birds.

    In the hands of a dreary fate
    You cannot break free
    If you wanted to, now, its too late
    Forever insane You'll be.

  4. Hmm the life cycle of a drug addict. I wish I could write something profound but I am not a poet, and I am not well educated in these areas.

  5. nice poem. check out my blog for more poems

  6. That's uh, quite the poem.

    Poor baby :P.

  7. I dont think i mentioned that these are troll poems if any readers dont know. Im just makin this shit up off the top of my head. I think you all know that.
    With that in mind im going to write the saddest, most fucking serious anti-pot propaganda.
    I had a friend who smoked pot at one point in my early childhood. His story is a shortened version of the story of life itself happening in no less than a year; the story of the regression from something full of life which inevitably dies. I watched it happen to him. And the fire inside me burns because I did nothing.
    I remember the beer from the party and how he curdled and puked but he just kept drinking it.
    That was the beginning. His first drink, beleive it or not, or so he told me.
    He came home drunk to his mother's house that night. She knew right away but said nothing as did I.
    She woke him up that morning to see a petrifying sight- her 12 year old Alex's face was a sickly yellow tone. He was conscious but in an ill condition.
    I remember when she called my house and my mom picked up the phone. Her tone, I had never heard in her voice before. She spoke in a serious, flat monotonous inflection when normally she was a jumpy, happy "soccer mom" type. She sat down to the table while I was eating cereal and she asked me, "David, I know you went to that party over at the DeMartini residence. And i know there was alcohol there. Your friend Alex is very sick, you know." I assured her i had not a drop.
    Flash Forward to 2 weeks later.
    Another Party. All the neighborhood "cool kids" are there. Ryan Mckone, Kyle Dodge, and Matt Conahan are selling and smoking joints. Dodge offers me a joint and i refuse but Alex buys one. He kept coughing and choking up mucus but he bought another when he finished. And I thought to myself, 'There goes his test scores for tomorrow.' That was his first 'C' he ever got.
    He talked about it alot. I tried to get him to stop, saying things like "So, how was the soccer game on thursday?" He told me he got "hella blazed" before it.
    Flash forward about a month. His use has been getting exponentially more difficult to deal with. Then, out behind the school at the park he gets caught. He is selling dime bags to the 6th graders. His father was furious and he threatened to call the DEA right then and there and have him thrown in federal prison, if not, go to rehab immediately.
    Flash forward eight months. Alex is out of juvenile hall and military school. I rarely saw or heard of him but I remember a few times finding him strolling through the park, his hair matted and hygiene far below standard. He was with four other friends just like him; but a year younger. I remembered these were the sixth graders from 8 months ago. He stunk of bile from a mile away. He gave me an lazy, dreary wave and i couldnt wave back.
    Its been a year almost since that first party. I heard last week that Alex died of Cystic Fibrosis and Gastro-intestinal swelling from smoking and eating pot. He said late in his life that vaporizing the pot would be far healthier for him. And that is what really killed him. The hot debri caused him painful respirator ulcers that lasted him until he eventually died, cold and alone.