The Poetic Rhymes of a Dope-FiendA Poem by Andrew N. FarrensRes Ipsa LoquiturThe California Sun shines bright, so warm yet inside of myself, I feel so cold Just barely a week into turning that always macabre age of thirty years old and it's not like I've really set the World on fire with my success, you know but f**k it, I'm from West Stockton and that's how wanna-be white-boy gangsta's like to roll You really wanna know what I think was dumb? Something I really wish I had never f*****g done, was swallow that first pain-pill that never made me feel pleasure that real or even fun Barely even helped murder that God-damned pain that late at night, when a full moon shines through the spring rain can cause a man once sane to go crazy, lunatic insane truthfully the pills don't work that well but it still becomes a compulsive habit before you can even begin to tell if a person has the mind of an addict This ain't the sixties nor the seventies and maybe we've learned not to trust The White Rabbit or at least, not entirely I'm unemployed ever since Barnes and Noble fired me I can't get another job 'cause I can't pass a piss test so no-one will hire me These long nights with no sleep are starting to tire me Yet I fear I'm already in too deep as the pain in the joints of my body worsen to the point where I want to weep and I know that hydrocodone will bring sweet relief if even for a period of time that is all too brief I'm starting to seriously believe that the pain the pills take away doesn't match the grief I feel when I'm lying alone in my bed with strange thoughts echoing about in my head smoking on that weed trying to keep my muddled mind off the fact my legs are absolutely crawling Sweat pours down my face as I'm trying to figure out what is causing the stomach cramps and when the liquid diarrhea comes, I'm like 'No s**t, I'm withdrawing.' I suffer through it all but total abstinence is something I always seem to be PAWSing Man, I'm not going to lie but I do love to get so high that my head dips down as I'm nodding off with a cigarette burning a hole in the flesh of my hairless, white chest Another stoned reject stuck West-Bound In the City of Stock-town And, Mama, I swear if I don't die from an over-dose some-day I'll actually have money to buy you some new clothes Until then......in Body, Spirit, and Mind I will continue to struggle and strive and try to make it out of this life alive (in the two-oh-nine) Kazinsky W(2)E(0)S(9)T 022813 -- God Bless the Dead --
© 2013 Andrew N. FarrensFeatured Review
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StatsAuthorAndrew N. FarrensWest Stockton, CAAboutAndrew Nicolas Farrens A/N/F Drew Kazinsky westies 209 Andrew N. Farrens a.k.a Drew Kazinsky is an awful, often Confused Poet/Writer/Musician/Word-Bully/Word-Slinger and many .. more..Writing
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