The best trick the devil pulls
is not when he smiles to show
what he has for you .
His best trick
is when he pulls it away
and warns you not to Continue reading
Category Archives: Junkie stories
A Poem from Junkie Stories
The Injection:
There I was . . .
. . . I was lost in my own way.
I sat down to feel the warm slow rush
cruise through my body.
It was like a journey.
My mind drifted, and my body fell.
I sank into the soft daydream
of a long, but Continue reading
About a Boy
Sean stood a little more than five feet tall. His hair was shaved close to the scalp and his eyebrows were thick and dark. He had blue eyes. They were the wild kind. Sean’s eyes were the kind that explained his lack of sanity could arrive at any moment, and if prompted, Sean could switch his temper like the flick of a matchstick.
Sean had a large nose, which had been broken several times. Most of those times were from his alcoholic father during a drinking binge. Sean had three scars on the back of his head from different street fights. He had a thick scar that came from a gash, which began Continue reading
Letters from a Son: A Change in Direction
I remember there was snow on the ground. Outside was the kind of cold where the sky was perfectly blue and the sun was so bright, but yet, there was no warmth in the wind. I sat on the second level in the main house of a farm where kids like me lived. To explain what I mean by kids like me, I mean kids that needed to get away from a troubled life of drug addiction.
The view from the windows was spectacular. I could see out into the distance as large, tree covered mountains wove together and interlocked like fingers from the hands. The trees were without leaves and the branches were crystalized and white with frost. There was a blanket of snow that covered the field behind the tall red barn. The cows were close to the barn. As always, the pigs were inside, grunting in their pens and the sheep scampered in a flock upon the hill behind the main house. Continue reading
the sights and sounds . . .
Not always, but when I hear the sound a cigarette lighter makes after a thumb rolls down to spark the flint that starts the flame, it immediately brings me back to a time of wild chaos.
I am reminded of a place where the curtain was drawn closed and the thin off-white horizontal blinds beneath them, which were beaten and bent, were Continue reading
Counting Days
The hardest part of my fall from grace was not the next day or the day after. The hardest part is when I could not run away anymore. I could not deny what I had done
I held on to the secret of my relapse like a dirty lie that continued to whisper in my ear. Six months away the farm, and I gave in. The actual time of my relapse happened long before I found myself on Rockaway Parkway in a minivan filled with stolen equipment. There were steps leading up to my failure. There were obvious warning signs, but noticing them meant I would have to do something about. Noticing the signs I saw meant I would have to face some painful truths.
When asked about this time in my life, I always explain that I Continue reading
Prevention Prose
And you want to run . . .
. . .you really do
but you can’t . . .
You can’t because there’s nowhere to go
too many people depend on you
you want to hide but there’s no place to go
You think to yourself,
“It would be nice if Continue reading
Junky Poems
White smoke breaks the tension
to euthanize the strain
As you inhale, a small reaction
begins from the central nervous station,
which at last
echoes outward in soft tremors
that dissolve in blood
and flush the system with beautiful waves
of amazing chaos. Continue reading
From Bedtime Stories for the Insomniac and Junkie Stories: Behind The Cans
There I was, curled up in a corner and hidden in the moonlit night behind two trash cans against the side of a single family home. The house was in the middle of the block on a quiet street in an otherwise quiet town. I could not get my bearings as to why I was there or why I had to run. I was unsure of my whereabouts and unsure where to go.
Breathing heavy, I waited and watched a police car slowly creep from down the corner and drive down the street like a predator lurking for its prey.
There was a bright light beaming through the night and shining from Continue reading
From The Junkie Stories: At The Starting Gate
After two hours, the effects from the mescaline failed to pull off its trick. The sun had already gone down. The summer was at its close and the lazy days were about to end. Soon enough, we would be in school. Soon enough, I would be faced with the classroom pressures and the emotional discomfort of an undiagnosed learning disability.
We gathered at the video arcade known as The Wiz in the shopping Continue reading
The Written Addiction 