No Home

Thoughts of the past keep haunting me like torture and hot flashes and chills in my achy bones and crawling skin. That hopeless desperation I had to just not pick up dope anymore. Repeatedly trying over and over again to only give up and surrender to that needle and brown liquid god.

Disappointing others and shattering their hopes for me more and more every time I gave up on myself. So many times, so close to getting its clenched fists off of my back. So many times telling the people in detox I have to go, I just can’t do it. Leaving the several places I tried so hard to get in to with that last little thread of hope I had. Only to spit it out like spoiled milk and run. Run from everything, run from my problems, and run from myself. To go cop one more bag. One more kick in the ass. One more shot of misery and self-loathing death into my veins. My precious God-given blood raped and molested by that liquid bliss. Removing all pain that exists, but in all actuality adding more salt to the wounds. Just remaining hidden behind, and consumed by an illusion until I wake again aching and crawling for more. I AM A WHORE AND A SLAVE.

It won’t let me remember the days I sneak into purses, climb through windows, sweaty with cold clammy hands ready to do what is necessary for one more jab into my pin-cushioned arms. Keeping a thick fog between me and the people that love me. No longer letting me see what I was inflicting on them; only the excuses as to why I have to do it again.

Only to be walking on a warm, beautiful summer’s night, sweating with a garbage bag full of clothes and nowhere to go. Looking at the moon wishing some unknown force would fall from the sky and strike me dead. Only my wishing did nothing but leave me in front of a payphone with not one soul to call. Shame and fear holding my arms to my sides restricting me from trying my last and few options. So I sit on the cement curb warm from the sun earlier in the day.- Trying to figure out why things are this way.- Looking back in dismay at the pain trying to come up with any possible excuse for me to be sitting here like this.-

Thinking back, collecting hate for my father who could never show his face, nor any man in my life who could possibly teach me how to put up my fists and live like a man.- Getting kicked in my head and body as I treated any older male friend of mine like he was my dad.- They always vanish, they always die,- whoever tells you they care, it is always a lie.- Is that why girls asked me if I was gay?- Tell me I act feminine because I don’t know how to act any other way?- Ending up like some androgynous fool because it was only by women that I was raised?- Hating myself for the thoughts that I have.- Thinking I’m some bisexual junky but knowing I really couldn’t go through with that.- What does this mean?- I can’t help what I dream,- but I hate myself for the thoughts and erections I get from watching the television screen.- I hate my fucking brother for never acting like one to me;- leaving me in this city to turn into a fiend.- I hate my family for turning their backs on me.- Way before I was even that bad,- talking about my grades in school,- looking at me like all I am is a fool.- My mom was always late as I waited at the window fogged up in front of my face.- Why does she always have to work so fucking late?– Why did everyone look at us like we were inferior?- My plastic family treating my mother like she is shit.- My prejudice grandmother never could get it.- My name is Mark!– I am not the perfect angel who came before me, went to college and made good grades.- I am the black sheep who probably has AIDS- because I don’t give a fuck about life or these stupid bags.- that I shoot into my arms hoping I will forget about today.- All of you motherfuckers where were you? When I sat alone crying with only the thought of death on my mind?- I was still an innocent child and you couldn’t tell?- You couldn’t see something was wrong?- Did you ever wonder why I had cuts on my skin?- Why all the sleeping pills were gone along with a full bottle of gin?- Why I was in the garage with the motor running,- sucking in carbon monoxide and you wonder why every time I try to stop I just keep running!– Fuck this world and the death that surrounds me.- Fuck the Catholic Church, Jesus Christ, and the priests that wanted to touch me!- The only thing I have is the needle because it loves me!- And no one will break that bond and it won’t look at me the way all of you did…

Fuck… what am I thinking when I’m sitting here like this?- On the cement outside looking up at the dark night sky? Imprisoned in my own twisted mind.- These excuses are not helping at all,- they just add to the liquid bliss that I shoot into my veins in every bathroom stall,- in every public place,- so no one will remember my face because I will be wearing a mask when they find me dead anyway.

Again, instead of trying to find somewhere to rest my head, I sit here consumed by a thousand reasons and a thousand dreams to try and escape my reality. A HOMELESS JUNKY.

Cigarette burning slowly between my fingers, staining the tips with dirty brown residue.- Tomorrow I’ll be sick and do what I have to do to cure.- I’ll call the fake acquaintances I used to pull licks and get rides to meet my divine liquid bliss.- My life turned to shit and I wonder why my mother still cares.- I left her broke and penniless and her boyfriend wouldn’t dare let me into his home to rest my head.- So she’s on her way to drop off some money so I can maybe get a bed.- Pay off a fake friend with bribes and intoxicating fibs.- Smoking my last cigarette, looking up here she is.




One Response to No Home

  1. cheryl tambor says:

    Wow…so real…so meaningful…so touching…so sad… 😥

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