Poetry

Searching
for a fitting pose before injecting an overdose. All I need to live with the
blame is liquid chemicals in my veins.
 
rusty
needles, used before spreading disease even more.
a fear of
needles, an addiction to drugs which will be the end of us?
 
All these
needles laying in bowl, eavh its own story, its own toll.
 
Heavy
withdrawal a kick in the head, neither living nor am I dead.
 
Heavy
konvulsions, puking all the time..
 
Prepping a
needle for one last time.
 
Experimenting
with toxins, recipes for alchermists..
 
All of
these needles piercing the veins... All of my blood now clotted and stained..
 
Only way so
I can feel... is by stabbing myself with a needle...
 
Waking up
in another dimension, walking in utopia...
 
Before
returning to darkness and xenofobia..
 
Shaking
hands, all sweaty...
 
Is this
concoction finally ready?
 
I can't
deal with life no more...
 
All these
years of reflecting and pain...
 
Trying to
slit my primary veins.. Using the syringe to ease my pain..
 
Numbed by
narcotics and insane by the voices in my bed.. trying to bite off my tongue and
killing myself...
 
Every night
in the bathtub so warm.. I swim in syringes where there is no harm...
 
Every night
watching myself in the mirror on the bathroom wall, open medcasket with needles
and all...
 
Numbed by
narcotics, my mind like a jar filled all kinds of things..
 
A cocktail
of death
 
surging
through my veins....
 
Lying down
in the bathtub, the water so warm..
 
Slowly fading
out, the potent drug working it's charm...
 
paralysis,
submerging in the water, pulling the showercurtain down..
 
Slowly
bloods ascend from my eyes and nose up to the surface..
 
Curtain
falls...
 
Death
calls....
 
Sleeping on
a bed of syringes...
 
Rusted
needles... each one its own story to tell