Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Once more will never be enough.


Once more will never be enough.

Once more will never be enough. Sickness. Too much of anything makes you an addict. And addiction is what drives me along this path. Not knowing when to stop. Needing to, just once more, and promising your inner psyche you can stop. You can’t. Test the fates. Tempt the devil to take your soul. One more time, maybe this will be the end. But it won’t. You can’t fool yourself. “Gimme some more,” screams your mind your heartbeat climbs, breathe thickens, and skin becomes alive with anticipation. The thrill of a junkie as the vein becomes visible and the needle comes out is compare. Each and every time is like a new high that I can not live without. The purest form of death known to man. Sold in a small vial for an arm and a leg quite literally, of another human. Killing without purpose is unquestionable. Now death with an agenda has its merits. Every last person in this world would throw someone under the bus for one thing. This is mine. I need it. It’s my love, my lust, my unequivocal greed in liquid form. Only for the mere barter of parts. Knowing each time I swallow that this may in fact be the last never deters my desire.

Not your typical junkie. Stealing isn’t my scene. Don’t need a television set or car stereo. Obtaining material possessions won’t do me a bit of good. On the off chance I find my way into the home of an unsuspecting person. There isn’t anything more valuable than the warm body in the bed. Comfortable. Without question the easiest prey are those already dead to the world. Such opportunities come far and few between. In these streets there aren’t welcoming places of safety for life. The dark night is cold and the emptiness swallows any movement immediately. Death isn’t as easy as it looks. Necessary, but never easy.

I’m stalking out in the open. Waited far too long for a fix. Craving and now I’m shaking with withdrawal. The pain of living returning to my skin as sting of air enters my lungs, breathing life back into a cold walking tomb. There must be a victim waiting for the sting of my blade and welcoming touch of wickedness. Part by part I will dissect my prey until there’s nothing left. Truly understanding madness is seeking to bring utter annihilation to another human being. Deep down knowing you are capable of bringing the most destructive form of death upon another living person without remorse.

A tall, slender fellow crosses the street and immediately disappears beneath the shadows of night. Despite the rush of my footsteps, I’ve lost him. Too quick to be real. Foolishly I’m losing this battle. I’ve caught myself chasing invented phantoms to no avail before. The things I’ve done are sometimes so horrific; I can only hope them to be imagined. My mind wanders into unknown realms of imagination. It’s the lack of reality that sets me spinning at times. Stop myself. This is no invention of the mind. The ghostly fellow is standing beneath the fire escape in the darkness of the alley. Deep within the shadow I can see the red cherry of a cigarette surrounded by the whimsical movement of smoke. No element of surprise. Plain as day I make my approach. Desperate. Revealed. Time is wearing thin as I stand before this stranger working towards the completion of my plan. Slowly my shaking hand reaches out to bum a cig. This mysterious stranger obliges a junkie. What I really want is his arm. Those small twisted veins tangled up in the tattoo that climbs toward his shoulder. Sustenance. What I really need is his leg. Stocky trunk hidden beneath dark denim disappearing into a black boot laced thinly. Death for him and for me. Lucky fellow will find an end to his suffering life.

All life is suffering to someone looking for a way out. Standing over this carcass my own panic starts to swim. As I gather up my bounty, trembling, I can’t help wondering when my end will come. When will it truly be enough? Chasing death and never reach it. Over and over, repeat until it comes true. More. I need more. Shaking and swimming in this intoxicating pattern. I can’t stop. There is never going to be enough. Lying won’t change that reality. I’m already living death in an unending routine that will never concede. Soulless. Living for the hollow ecstasy of a fix. Small vial of true happiness. Momentarily lost in the hope of finding peace as I trade life for death. That race of adrenaline that pumps within my veins promising to end this misery each and every time. Broken promises. Addicted. Once more will never be enough.

Addicted. What's your favorite addiction? Can you quit it? This is from last year. Fresh upon my mind as I'm currently mid-detox from something I've been addicted to for about five years... it's something you can get over the counter and most of you wouldn't call it a drug, Caffeine. Specifically my favorite flavor: Sugar Free Red Bull, once a day. And you know I wouldn't have called it a drug either, until... Withdrawal symptoms signal that you are a junkie. Unhealthy addiction. Give it up. As for the writing. Ah, never. “that which nourishes me, destroys me.” life certainly would be hell and unbearable without the ability to create. as an artist you move in circles and patterns that others do not understand. it is an unrelenting, unforgiving addiction. but nonetheless a necessary one. Anyhow, enjoy if you've never read, have a great night. kisses. m.

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