Junkie Poem: Nods and Metaphors


Tiny bells chime in my ears and the world becomes soft.
The rush pulls me in and I am overrun
I am overtaken and swallowed into the warmth of beautiful lies

Outside . . . an ambulance keeps passing my window.
It’s the same one, I think,
and the whispers I hear have apparently arrived.

It’s like this:
Tiny movements sway into the excess of breath.
And I envy these moments between in and out.
My chest is neither full nor flat
time has yet to move, as if everything paused,
and all that was heavy
lifts into the forgotten loft at the back of my brain.

After the climate changes,
I emerge from my personal shadow
and arrive in the transaction of synthetic light.

My body sways . . .
like tall fields of half-bent grass under the breath of a lazy wind.

I feel as if I am a leaf,
floating on the surface of a summer stream beneath the heat.
I slowly drift passed the willows
washing myself spirit of its flesh
and then I empty into an abandoned sea of tainted paradise.

The trip is too overpowering to turn back now.
Besides, I’m already in
the powder dissolved and soul was traded.

I guess this is what they warned me about.

The dirt is earth, so I lay back on the ground
I sink in, envisioning the warmth,
which moves through my body’s pulse.

Eyes close as I die alive and euthanize myself in tiny doses
which course through the tunnels of my bloodstream
and separate me from the life as I know it.

As I give in to the nod,
withering demons meet me halfway
and weeping angels give up their wings
as they fall downward in episodes of fading color.

My head unfolds into atmosphere
and I am lost, like in a cocoon
for what seems to be pieces of eternity.

It’s like being stranded in the whiskers of Heavenly Father’s beard

. . . and everything is gray


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