JUNKIE

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Before anyone throws judgment on those "sad, pathetic people" who lean on street corners, please remember: we are ALL addicts, each of us is addicted to something. lmr




Funky,
Flunky,
Untrustworthy
Junkie, I might just be
Your only friend
Left.

Maybe ’cause
You haven’t yet
Robbed
My car,
Broken into
My home,
Stolen my
Flat screen
And DVR.

Maybe you haven't yet
Abused  or
Misused my trust,
Tainted my love
And turned it Into 
Dust… or
Made empty
Promises
I knew your
Junkie azz
Wouldn’t keep.

Or maybe
My loyalty runs
Deep...  See
I've made a freakin'
Career of being
Here for you. I've always
Had your back
And just maybe,
Behind my act
I have this
Fear, I’m nothing but
An addict too…

A junkie,
Hiding my wounds,
Scratching
The scabs of my
Doomed and
Sordid history
With you,
With Life. I keep
Feeding off
Those lost years of
Aimlessness,
B-ball games
And Converse All-Stars
Slapping pavements...
I just keep
Mainlining
Good Moments and
Cool memories
Into my veins…

And now I’ve become
Some strange
New form of
Junkie…  leaning...
Shaking, jittering to
This slow-motion
Music inside me.
Drooling on the past-tense…
Tripping on visions,
Throwback
Tunes &  times
When project laughter made
Wild sparks inside
A summer night’s
Darkness...

And then
Times changed, and
Most of us
Grew the fuck up!
 
But some of us
Never grew...
Did we?
We just became
Junkies
Holding onto
Dreams
Tight as
Hypodermic
Needles…
Always looking for that
Transitory fix

But me?
I throw
No judgments...
See, everyone
I know
Clings to
Something,
To someone
Or some shit
That may never
Come to be…


And so we
Junk ourselves
Away from
Reality. We stifle,
We dope,
We artificially cope.
We medicate our
Silent aches
With placebos
With nicotine
With liquor
With amphetamines
With something
That makes disaster
Seem a little more like
A dream.

Funky
Flunky
Untrustworthy
Junkie, I might just be
Your only
Friend left. Maybe
‘Cause beneath
This scratching,
Leaning palsy and
The slow-mo ballet
Just maybe I see…


How my veins
Have collapsed
From the weight of
My dreams
How my desires
Have atrophied
From someone
Else’s schemes...
And my fingers
Wear sores and
Skid-marks
From clawing
And clinging to
Some illusive shit
That may never
Come to be.



The only difference is:

I’VE NEVER ONCE

STOPPED

Believing.






 

copyright © 2016 by L.M. Ross
 

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