OK?

Clinically insane, to much chemicals have been pumped into my brain; rotting at the core, still i want more. Everythings fucked, how much of this couldve actually been avoided or ducked, logic overdrive, fuck atleast im stil alive. What a fucking compromise, atleast i didnt get the heart-attact surprise - thats Junkie logic there: atleast i still care? Far fucking gone: well, prove me wrong...
Only happiness is when i dream, complete misery inbetween. Two or three lives to cover: golden boy, junkie and clean and sober lover. All the pieces inbetween, how much hell and misery have i seen. Lived in hell for years, riding me over and over on my deepest fears. Knowing that i need to understand, realising what this commitment of me will demand. Do i have the strenght and power, to make it throught another hour...
See is the only thing i can do; try myself not again to screw. Focus all that i have in me, try and understand what need be. Do i make any fucking sense? All i know is that im fucking tense. Get up and wish this addiction away, once again lucky to see another day. Live for the moment and return to myself or put my ashes in a container on the shelf. You are sooo confused you dumb fuck and you need more than prayers and luck...

'Any idiot can face a crisis - it's day to day living that wears you out.'

Anton Chekhov

Up, up and a crash

How many different ways are there of expressing how lost you are? How many different ways are there of explaining how far? Frustration can only be explained in so many ways before it starts sounding like a heap of whining? Only so many ways of telling about the walls you are climbing. Going on over and over on about being annoyed, repeating and repeating about everything youve destroyed? Already working on your own nerves with all the complaining yet in the same fucking position you are remaining...
Promising yourself every fucking day youre gonna change, writing yourself letters and making plans on how your life youre gonna rearrange. So many spicks youve broken and thrown away, reminding yourself over and over there is another way. Plotting and planning your strategy on paper and in your head, reminding yourself that long ago you shouldve already be dead. Trying to use this fear of your heart stopping as a tool, over and over calling yourself a dumb cunt, an idiot, a fool...
So when are all these plans gonna start falling into place, constantly telling yourself 'watch this space'. Making a mllion plans a day just to stop, i mean for fuck sakes; dead i dont wat to drop. Then the sun rises on the day you marked as number one, quickly a last hit just before your stomach starts to run. Once again you fucked yourself hard - and youre back in the planning phase right at the fucking start...

'And a song I was writing is left undone
I don't know why I spend my time
Writing songs I can't believe
With words that tear and strain to rhyme.
And so you see I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs
The only truth I know is you.'

Simon and Garfunkel - Kathy's Song

Blood and wisdom

Pieces of myself dissapearing, completely gone is what im fearing - crumbling more and more as each day goes by, costing more and more to get high. Actually a huge fib im telling, fortunately my nose isnt growing or swelling. More and more cash just to feel normal, witout a hit or two i cant even act formal, always ranting about shit, never anything else and that is it. Why the fuck should i care, its like saying this bag ill share: not a fucking snowballs chance in hell, its not even a situation of time will tell. As each day goes by less and less sense i make, more and more promises i break. Not as if anyone trusted me to begin with, buy a guitar and put this on a riff. See what i mean with the sense thats not there, just a fucking pity i dont actually care. The only fucking thing i care about is smack, god dammit 10 years ago it used to be crack, before that mandrax, coke and meth, i hope i can come clean before i blow out my final breath. Jesus christ ive been fighting for longer than half of this lifetime, fuck me sideways but ive literally missed my prime. Wasting away as every sun sets comes and goes fortunately in my face it doesnt to badly show. Still dont know why the fuck im writing, still dont know why this addiction im fighting. Losing battle from the start - to take on this motherfucker you need more than heart. Something is missing out of this story cause this battle has nothing to do with glory. Losing myself more and more: at this time i would consider a blessing as being found dead on the fucking floor.

'I am the needle in your vein, and I control you. I am the high you can't sustain, and I control you. I am the pusher I'm a whore, and I control you. I am the need you have for more, and I control you. I am the bullet in the gun, and I control you. I am the truth from which you run, and I control you. I am the silencing machine, and I control you'

NIN - Mr. Self distruct

Compose mail

Up and down, up and down, up and down and down and down, sitting on my thrown on my head this huge pile of shit in the shape of a crown. Self proclaimed king of this horrible fucking place, pin-eyed and the black rings under my eyes the only colour on my rubbery pale face. I dont have a fucking clue why im ranting, so much complaining that im out of breath and actually panting. Lost and losing myself more and more every day, wishing my fucking addiction away. How much logic in that statement i made, its like cutting my dick off with a blunt blade, no sense in that action at all, same as like going to a fucking mall - a complete fucking waste of time and space, still to myself im a digrace. Not one word of sense in anything i wrote here all i know is i wish i could dissapear. Do something except for crying and stop fantasising about dying...

'Don't believe everything that you breathe
You get a parking violation
And a maggot on your sleeve
So shave your face
With some mace in the dark
Saving' all your food stamps
And burning' down the trailer park
(Yo. Cut it.)
Soy un perdedor
I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?
(Double-barrel buckshot)
Soy un perdedor
I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?'

Beck - Loser

He-he-mooo-ha-ha!

Trying to achieve freedom and liberty through a needle, pumping your veins full of filth for what fucking reason ill never know. Maybe i do but im just in denial about it? Maybe i dont want to realise and understand while im doing this - deeper and deeper into the abyss im throwing myself one hit at a time. Harder and harder im fucking myself and im the one paying for it; not just through cash but through blood sweat and tears - emotionally fucking myself up in a million and one ways, knowing the thruth, understanding the thruth and even comprehending it yet applying it is a completely different fucking story. Hoping and hoping this will leave my life and my exsistance yet through hope and prayer alone it wont. Hard work and lots of energy is what it will take but it has to start somewhere - you know where, youve seen where, youve even stood in that place and saw yourself: your past, your present, your future, your good and your bad, your deep and your dark even the bit of happy and light left in your life and yet you chose to take a fall backwards, standing where it all began - ready to move forward or were you? Was your journey complete or has it just started, was your life ready to begin again or was that moment just there to give you a glimmer of hope for the moment knowing that one day there will be a brighter future waiting for you, maybe even a ray of false hope; a big fat fuck you! A reminder of everything that couldve, woulde and shouldve been? Heaps and heaps of bad choices and oppertunities wasted and thrown away and now you are suffering and struggling for it. Dont know, dont know, dont know...

'And I forget just why I taste. Oh, yeah, I guess it makes me smile. I found it hard, it's hard to find. Oh well, whatever, nevermind.
Hello, Hello, Hello, How Low. Hello, Hello, Hello'

Nirvana - Smells like teen spirit

Ski-bi-di-doo-da-ski-ba-di-day

Every fucking day im battling with myself and me, this piece of info about 10years ago i did already see. Yet i cant get over the fact that to myself i am losing - and this path i chose is definately not about a easy and light cruising. Harder and harder every day it gets, more and more colourful and complicated my regrets. Losing more and more as every day goes by, still i have no tears to cry. Its in anyways not woth crying over your own life youve wasted, cause you know youre gonna be fucked up after this shit once youve tasted. Yet like a stupid cunt youll go for it, finally shooting up this dirty, disgusting shit. Fucking away everything that is good and pure: and for this fucking thing there is no quick fix or cure...
Or is there???

'Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.'

Edgar Allan Poe

Fuck this day!

Blank and empty page for my random and screwed up thoughts to mess up this clean and clear space. Fucking stunning you dumbass oxygen thief and of organs, skin and bone you are truly a fucking waste. Everyday starts with this hectic feeling of anxiety just to say goodmorning and give me a jump-start for the day, Yip! Heroin is the only thing that can make this motherfucker of a feeling go away. Fucked up phisically and emotionally in all ways untill you get that first fucking hit: BUT unfortunately for you to survive the whole day you need another hit or five and that is about it...
The first hit is just to settle your stomach and calm your nerves down a wee little bit - i can guarantee you if you dont get it before lunchtime in your pants you will literally shit. The one after the stabilzer is there to put you in a mood just to start your day - and if you dont get it everyone must just fuckoff cause youre not in the mood to play. Just got this sudden realisation how fucked im really in the head, i need to stop this shit but im rather writing korny poems about it instead. Its as if someone just hit me over the head with a harsh dose of reality, ive known im fucked up all along but now i can see...
I need to change this fucking lifestyle of mine and fast, cause for fuck sakes how long do i think im gonna last. This fear of death has just creeped me out totally, i really need to stop this shit and set myself free! Its so much easier said than done, and in my books failure has never ever been fun. Completely fucked up a junkie with OCD, sounds fucked up and retarded but thats my life, thats me...

'Give me a Leonard Cohen afterworld, So I can sigh eternally. I'm so tired I can't sleep, I'm a liar and a thief.
I sit and drink Pennyroyal Tea. I'm anemic royalty'

Nirvana - Pennyroyal tea

Bloody arm

The sheer fucking joy of finding an usable vein, the utter disbelief when it dissapears or goes into hiding again, poking yourself full of holes and scratching around in your arm looking for it with your spick, god the life of a junkie is so much fun its actually quite sick, if you didnt pick up the fucking sarcasm in that sentence, then for you i wont show alotta hope or penetance. All of your clothes are covered with blood spots everywhere: but untill youre clean you dont give a fuck or actually care...
Walking around with blood on all your attire, to someone who doesnt know it might look like you got stuck in barb-wire. When you pick out your clothes you always make sure its shades of black or dark blue - cause when then blood starts dripping theres not much you'll do. Blood stains on your clothes or a decent hit? God! I dont even think there is a debate about it. All i know is that this stupid fucking habit need to end soon, cause you can really feel how fucked up you really are when its full-moon...
Waking up and it doesnt matter how many hits you take, this feeling doesnt want to change, alter or break. Physically you feel that youll be better of dead and if you knew it was full moon you wouldve much rather stayed in bed. Emotionally fucked up, wobbling, buckled and bent in so many different ways; Yes! U normally feel like this but its so much more intense and in your face on full moon days. To make it worse you veins fuck around cause somehow or another they know its full moon too, now you tell me: WHAT THE FUCK CAN A PERSON DO???

'Hey god, theres nothing left for me to hide. I lost my ignorance, security and pride. I'm all alone in a world you must despise. Hey God, i believed that promises, your promises and lies. You made me throw it all away. My morals left to decay. How many you betray. You've taken everything.
My head is filled with disease. My skin is begging you please. I'm on my hands and knees. I want so much to believe.'

NIN - Terrible lie

Double Cream Yoghurt

Planted solidly on the toilet or rather let me call it what it is; my 'office' chair, the sound of beethoven pumping in the background thats gently filling the air. FINALLY cooking up after a 3 1/2 hour long wait for the fucking dealer to show - and when youre waiting for drugs the time drags the fuck along, it takes forever and im not joking when i say SLOW! Every single second that passes really feels like eternity - thats every addicts' nightmare and i promise you that its not just me. Pacing up and down, then sitting, then standing again, then sitting trying to keep busy but all youre actually doing is clock-watching - so much precious time wasted while waiting for this fucker whos taking forever just your gear to bring...
Seconds feel like minutes, minutes like hours and hours feel like days. You can phone someone else and make different missions cause there is literally a thousand and one other ways; BUT 'NO!' - you had to ask him for a present and he said yes he'll give you an extra one tonight, so like a good boy you shut the fuck up and youre trying your best not to pick a fight. Every 5 minutes youll phone and the conversation goes something like: 'how fucking far are you my man!?!' and your common sense repeatedly says 'just make another bloody plan', yet the addict inside wins the fight just by saying '6 is so much better than 5' and that little 'justification' helps to keep the clock-watching alive...
By now you are so annoyed and fucking hectically pissed, although there is not much going on in your life that you have missed. Doing things you never do like watching television and reading gossip magazines just to make the time go by, but for fuck sakes you cant distract yourself enough to make it fly. Then like a voice from heaven, finally the sound of my phones ring, god dammit not one but two extra presents did he bring. All of a sudden you forget about what felt like six months you had to wait - and now life is beautiful, perfect, amazing and so fucking great...

'Lost time is never found again'

Benjamin Franklin

Holy arms

Forcing this blunt needle into my body and poking myself full of holes everywhere, pretending that its helping me to forget about my issues and not to give a shit or about anything to care? Blood dripping from my arms, over my shoes and onto the floor; but this blunt fucking needle has to do the job for another couple of hits more, if a doctor has to see me use this syringe he'll probably slap the shit out of me more than just once or twice, and then give me a big fat lecture and some uncalled for professional medical advice. Yet all this fucking shit i already know but in my actions it doesnt a fuck show...
I can sorta justify it by saying ive used ones that have looked much worse; but dont worry i did steralize them with a lighter first. Fucking junkie-mentality of mine, worst part is that its thai white and i couldve just schnarfed a big fat fucking line - but NO when youre shooting up there is no other way, than for me this fucking twisted game with my life to play. Needle, sharp or blunt or nothing at all, even if point first the motherfucking thing on to the ground had a heartbreaking fall...
Just try to bend it right with your fingernails, you dont give a fuck about the yellow and blue marks that shooting with it entails. Cause this fucking hit isnt going to waste, and drinking this shit wont give a buzz and will only leave in my mouth a bad taste; fuck me sideways but alot of issues do addicts go through; but hey, what the fuck else is there left to do? We can always just quit and straighten our lives out immidiately? Fuck if it was that simple - no problem at all would addiction be...

'My congressman says I cant give my brother a clean syringe, If he should get aids and die, that's just too bad. My senator says I can't give my sister a clean syringe, If she should get hepititis and die, that's just too bad'

Fifteen - My Congressman