Here, here

Addiction, I consider you a friend of sorts.
Of course, I was born into you,
but I’ve always welcomed your company.

You’ve been my backbone.
I grew up with you; dealt with you.
Women have felt you through me though,

and trust me,
that’s always an awkward one to blame on you.
But… you’ve been with me every step of the way.

Always offering words of encouragement,
whenever I thought enough was enough.
I may have woken up next to a few toilets, or scared

off a few women because of you. I may have some debt…
because of you, but I’ve managed. You always hold my hand.
You’ve been my guiding voice, a role model, and people dream of that.

I wouldn’t part with you for anything. How could I ever do that?

Oh, Hay... Hai

The techni-color television gives off enough light

to catch my attention. Half awake, I wonder why

the suited man believes in the book he is selling—

“Escape your debt — I can show you how to do it tonight”

It’s the slogan he keeps shouting at me, but the lie

of the morning didn’t come from this guy yelling

his insights on open and closed 30-year loans—

The on-air Preacher, staring me in the face, bemoans

my fate in the Lord Savior Jesus Christ—fuck religion

they offer me free books with a quick telephone call

after they show near-death scenarios where “God” intervened;

Touching on my nerves doesn’t affect my life decision—

this asshole, a scrooge, paying witness to all

the monetary tricks of the holiest hierarchy— The God-Machined

I've only been sober a few times this week...

Happiness and Me

Secluded phobias inch out through my stomach--
I watch as they pull themselves out of my large intestine
hand over fist through adrenaline drenched gapes.
Clenching the flaps of skin
I try to force them back together.
Determined to fix my faults I reach for the stapler
to keep the rest of my character-flawed seclusions inside.
I can't do it without the help you give.
Without you, fear rings tears from my eyes
like the dish towel after a night of beer pong;
Tears roll down the sides of my cheek splashing the
make-shift sutchers that keep my insecurities unknown.
The cheap staples my Ex bought weren't stainless steel--
saltwater drops mix with the metal, leaving a rusted
concoction of infection and void:
The upper hand that these harlot emotions of mind needed,
spreading the plague of reality over a relationship of youth.