Last ride on the ghost machine, this morning.
Then again, or as the saying goes, there are last rides,
and then, there’s the last and final ride,
no thanks, or thanks to you
Fentanyl . . .
Oftentimes, nobody knows
which is which
or what comes next.
Either way,
the white train boarded the tube, as usual,
the spirit moved through the sleeve
like always,
and the chemistry dispersed
and moves through the pathways
of our tiny capillaries to create an action
of a systemic redemption.
But hey . . .
no one wants to read about this
right?
The tiny notes of clouds
drift in nonchalant skies
and as we spread through destiny
our soft moments that fold like lazy waves
and dive into sands.
This is not a test.
No, this has become
the materialization of a mind-altering seance
lazy and wild –
like always.
The porthole exists,
trust me when I tell you.
Tiny white sands move through the bloodstream,
like the port between an hourglass
and time runs out,
of course.
The pulse is the speed of the train
which courses through the tunnels
bending through the twists and turns
satisfies the nerves
with a vibration
of lazy perfection —
Ah, the suspense is like a free ride,
like a light show in the mind;
whereas angels invert and fall from the sky
volunteering their crash
to the enemies of mistaken chaos.
All else is alone and numb,
weightless and
shifting to atmospheres,
like an anesthesia
that lowers the eyelids to a twilight mind
and folding inward,
the body fall at half-staff
sinking inwards,
like always
of course.
And yes, the train is moving
but slowly
and with an unbelievable rush
pain-free, and completely abandoned
as if to be unhinged or disconnected
and to be set aside,
like, as it would be with the suction
that pulls us forward
and floods the pulse.
You lose yourself to this
like water loses to a drain,
is what I like to say,
and life spouts
through a pinhole
of an immaculate conception –
Ah, euphoria . . .
So high
You are pricy and mad
and hopeless to some,
but to others . . .
you are the rescue train
and nothing more.
One would offer,
how could something so sickly
and awful
become so seductive?
Others have asked:
How come everyone knows
the deadly grip
yet,
why do the people who know this the most,
refuse to let go?
If you don’t know . . .
Then, you just don’t know.
It’s an ironic idea
a strange thing
or a list of contradictions
but, as bad as this can be,
and as obvious as it would be
to get away
or to get clean —
it’s hard to believe in ever feeling better
without the only thing
that makes you feel worse.
(You get it?)
— It is not for me to judge or repent or to preach or to advise or to state the obvious. It is more accurate to explain that although haunting and sad, or crazy and dangerous, all the information and awareness means nothing to me because, apparently, if awareness was all it took, the number of overdoses would be going down.
Not up.
And, if the attempts of helping people find awareness is up and an understanding is evident, then why do we see the numbers of fatalities and tragedies from drug or alcohol related deaths go up instead of down?
We are all stating the obvious, as if to say, hey –
Stay away from this.
It’ll kill you . . .
This is something that always reminds me that one of the greatest tricks the devil pulls isn’t when he tells you hey, come here and try this—it’s when he says, no. This one isn’t for you.
This one is not good.
Yet, people step closer and line up in droves.
Come on in, said the demon to the soul –
the water is warm
the air is soft
and the mind can drift away
if you offer your heart.
Just sign the contract
but pay no attention to the fine print
it will only confuse you.
“Will you give yourself to me?”
Yes Master.
“At any cost?
Of course, Master.
“Good, then stand by.”
“The next train leaves in 20 minutes.”
But I’m sick now, Master.
“I know. But don’t worry.
The next train will be here soon enough . . .
to come
and take you away.”
Goodnight
says the Mother to her child
(no longer)
a father weeps
a sister mourns
a brother cries
and me,
all I can do is say yes,
I remember
and hopefully
I will see you again
someday~
The Written Addiction 