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Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Junkie




Yesterday, I ran into an old friend who has, over the years, fallen on hard times. Much of this was due to Life and its disappointments, personal weakness and the failure to overcome the adversities we all face. It saddened me how he could have been me, or I could have been him. It saddens me still because between us there are very few differences. After speaking with him last night, I was haunted enough to light a candle for him, and then to write this poem.



JUNKIE


Funky
Skunky
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 TV
And DVR.
You have not
Abused my trust
Turned my love
Into tainted
Dust… or
Made empty
Promises
I knew you
Couldn’t keep.

Yes, I’ve still
Got your back
Because maybe,
Just maybe
I’m nothing but
An addict too…
A junkie, scratching
The scabs of my
Sordid history
With you. I keep
Feeding off
Lost years of
Pick-up b-ball games
And Converse All-Stars
Mainlining
Good Moments and
Memories
Into my veins…

Photobucket


And now I’ve become
Some strange form of
Junkie…
Jittering to
This music
Of a past…
Tripping on times
When laughter made
Jazz and sparks in
A summer night’s
Darkness
And it was cool
To be young and
Foolish, too.

Maybe we’re all
Just junkies
Holding onto
Dreams
Tight as
Hypodermic
Needles…
Always looking for that
Transitory fix

See everyone
I know
Clings to
Something,
To someone
Or some shit
That may never
Come to be…
Photobucket


And so we
Junk ourselves
Away from
Reality. We stifle
We dope
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
Skunky
Untrustworthy
Junkie, I might just be
Your only
Friend left. Maybe
‘Cause beneath
The scratching,
Leaning palsy and
The slow-mo ballet
Just maybe I see…

Photobucket


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 STOPPED
Believing.


One.

10 comments:

Teri and the cats of Furrydance said...

Powerful. Sobering. What makes some of us never lose hope and others never find it.I still find mornings the hardest...once I'm on my way I'm ok. Luckily for me, it never stays too dark for too long.

We snatch joy...

Everlearning said...

I like the way you remind us that our weakness is always there with the so called weaker ones....

thegayte-keeper said...

THIS IS JUST SIMPLE AN AWESOME POETRY...

Mizrepresent said...

OMG Lin, i felt that in the deepest. Yes, i'm like you...i never stop believing even when i fall short of my dreams.

Bless you

D-Place said...

I felt that on many levels. Thank you!

Green said...

I love it...really hit home..ur amazing

joaquin carvel said...

wow - to me, the fact that "he could have been me, or I could have been him" is the most beautiful & terrifying part - i completely agree - and i also love how refuse to judge him - seeing him for who he is, you for who you are - us for who we are. great, great piece.

RachelW said...

You are so right; we all have our fix, don't we? And yes, our dreams too can crush our veins, if we lean on them too heavily. I love your ending. It's refreshing, and so full of hope after the bitterness of what came above.

Lovebabz said...

As always you seem to hit a nerve. Seeing folks who we used to know and love is painful indeed. I am glad the feeling of his life stayed with and inspired you to pen this poem.

((HUGS))

Cheron L. Hall said...

"Maybe we’re all
Just junkies
Holding onto
Dreams
Tight as
Hypodermic
Needles…"

You just made me recall a situation in which I bumped into a friend who was strung out...I have to write about it...

This is an amazing piece.