Conversation With a Recovering Sex Worker

"They all have a prize" she said,
"Each woman out there is willing,
has, probably is at this very moment,
selling herself for something.
Some do it for love, others for money,
there are those who do it for need
be it food drink or drug,
others just like the way it feels
to have a cock inside of them
that loveless embrace and meaningless fuck,
with some cash thrown on top
anything is good enough for them to cum."

She sips her coffee,
lights another cigarette
and as she looks down
cup in one hand resting on the table
bitting her pinky finger
then taking a big drag of smoke
and as she exhales she says

"But all of those women,
especially those who do it
for money or for drugs,
will have to fuck guys who are just dirty,
their cocks unwashed for days
with that white smegma shit on them
and who knows what else!
That rancid sweaty smell–
some stinking of garbage
others just violent assholes. You know,
the moment they close that door
those women are slaves to those men,
sex slaves. They've sold themselves
for twenty thousand pesos, their freedom
for one hour, they belong to them."

She takes another drag from her smoke,
her voice is shaky, her grip on the glass is tight.

"Those men are the kind of people
who'll do all sorts of perverted things,
especially to a young woman,
they like to see a pretty face wince in pain,
a pleasurable agony."

She looks towards the green mountains,
past the city skyline, past the busy and working city
as a serene air comes through the large windows

"I stopped doing that a long time ago,
sure I have my price, but it isn't some thing
just anyone can pay for. I gotta like you,
you've got to buy me dinner,
take me out dancing, show me
a good time around town.
Then, when we are back at your place,
then, and only after we've met MY
expectations, then you can ravage me,
or I you. Well, not you you, but
you know what I mean, don't you darling?"

She snuffs her cigarette.

Naked With Sour Girl

When she used to grab my shoulders, digging her nails
into my skin at the rhythm of our fucking, it used to be
enough to almost make me explode inside her. Now it’s not
enough to just have her nail marks on my back, I want
her bite marks on my neck, I want bruises on my sides
from her thighs wrapping themselves hard around me
as I pound and choke her into ecstasy eternal, my balls
covered in our cum.

There was something about needles that always
perturbed me, something about the way they would
plunge into my veins and then made all that liquid
disappear. It just never seemed natural. Then
one day I had my first taste of an opiate, intravenously,
and my relationship with needles changed drastically.
I had never felt such exhilaration at the elation of that hard
steel needle, plunging through my being, penetrating me,
then releasing its payload into my vein. It still
makes me hard every time I think about Sour Girl, my heroin.

Now this old companion has grown, it has
made its way into the circles I keep and
without fail has taken the heads of
a few people I’ve escaped hell with. There is
something to be said about the ones who have cut off
their own strings and burnt their own bridges, but that
is another poem all together about floating corpses
in the milky waters of the river Alf.

Gin used to taste terrible, its strong flavor would
make the sides of my tongue burn, the place where
my jaw and skull met would ache, much the way Vodka
makes me feel today. Then it was distasteful, but today
it is what I usually like to order, and with a simple “Gin
and Tonic, please,” my youth slips down my throat.

Speedy drugs had never been something I wanted to try,
look at, or even get into. Time starts to change its flow as
one gets older though, the days get shorter, the change of the seasons
becomes more apparent and enunciated by the aching
muscles and bones. To keep up through the pain and fatigue,
now there will always be methamphetamine.

Sometimes it is easy to forget when I meet you,
sometimes I’m reminded after I pass you.
It is not so much that I’m afraid of you,
but of the experience I’ll be missing. I eat my drugs
and drink my gin, toasting to old friends I’ll never see again.

Junkies

People dance on the streets,
streets covered in shit and piss,
but they still dance all the same.
As the little bit they share

of fun and debauchery
course through their vain,
meanwhile just on the other side
people starve and beg for food.

The happiest people on earth
all have a reason to look away,
otherwise the front they've built would fall,
they wouldn't be as happy.

To truly see the pitiful eyes of the addict
begging for more change,
will make anyones heart quiver with pity.
So instead of looking

deep into their darkened ocular orbs, sharing that pain,
making that human connection for just one second,
it is easier to reach into pockets
paying off the junkies to walk away.

Junkies know and use this to their advantage, beggars
making sure to look into their darkened
empty souls, asking them to make a donation
to the nation of addiction and injections.

People dance, dance the pain away.
Needles drop on the ground, junkies
shooting away the day, trying to be
the happiest people on earth.

©Who_Leo All Rights Reserved

©Who_Leo All Rights Reserved

All Images Are © By Who_Leo May Not Be Used Or Shared.

On Lizards

She coils like a snake
shedding her skin habitually
leaving remains of who she was,
or rather pretends to be,
along with the carcasses
of those she's consumed,
eaten whole, swallowed,
perverted.

There is a glimmer in her blue eyes
every time her tongue sticks out
to sense the air around her,
tasting for a fix, hoping
to feel the warmth of the cold night.
A field of dust is laid before her
she crawls upon it with belly swollen,
the last victim of her bite.

She leaves trails behind
as her body moves, a straw,
clearing the powdery surface,
revealing beneath the rotten ground
kept from sight, hidden,
until her swift movements
clear a woven path visible
to those who dare pay attention
to the swollen mess that is left behind.

She coils around again,
having found comfort
upon the tiled bathroom floor
of a broken down house
with cracks on the walls
as it tries to hold up the sins of a past
which extends thousands of years.
Poe would have cried
at the sight of such visage.
Skin flakes, scales glow,
her long tongue sticks out into the night
as her brilliant mind is numbed away.

Good Ridance

I guess it's futile. You say I don't know my feelings, well I know my emotions well enough to be able to shut them off if needed be. Sadly, they are a sort of fuel, for living. I asked jim how you were. Because I have known him for many many years, and he's been like a father to me in many instances. You don't talk to me, you're cryptic, you push everyone away, and all I wanted was to know how you actually were. You claim that I am a pagan, but I don't worship anything, or anyone, or any names. I don't know where you get this shit from. I guess you must be high on some shit, which happens. I'm tired of talking to you and always getting illegible messages because you're too fucked up to type. This worries me. I don't want to worry about you, you're a grown woman who is killing herself. Not my fucking problem, and I'm sorry I made it so. Because I don't need your baggage. So I thank you for flipping out, because I didn't know how to push you away. I am sorry because of the human being that resides in you, but I can't let your shit get to me. As much as I want to help you, I cannot and shouldn't, for until you want to help yourself, there is no point. I don't know what else to say, but I hope you get well.

On depression

So the thing about depression is that you can never really leave it behind. No matter what you are doing there it is, no matter how hard you pretend there is always something hiding behind eyes that once ached to see the world which turns them towards the dark and only want to sleep. In fear of sounding like some over sensitive idiot I tend to stop writing mid sentence, but that's only because of a series of social stigmas implanted by schooling and television, ex's, people who often drift through your life, which dictate that expressing emotion is wrong and shouldn't be done. Well, sometimes we stop caring enough to actually put something down on paper, or a digital format to be viewed by others. Maybe to help, maybe to vent, or it could just be to help the ego.

It just hides back there, in the darkest little parts of the mind. Any moment and every moment you spend on your own is a moment it gets to reach out further into your soul(?) and pulls it apart. So far, 28 years have passed through me and each and every year since I recognized this, it keeps happening. Sometimes the happiness lasts enough to let me see some sort of opening ahead, but just then the depression comes back and drags me back into the bush, away from reason and the ability to contain one self. As of recent one thing had kept me going, and it was as selfish as it could be. Being selfish after all, is but a lingering string that lets us find the way out, or sometimes even deeper into the woods. It really does often feel as if there is nothing one can do, that this is an end of sorts.

Covering up the wounds has become second nature, smile at the passing professors, the fellow students. Every once in a while you run into others who are pretending just like you. Something calls you to them, there is an inherent need to be near them but... it's never going to go into fruition, damaged goods and damaged goods probably shouldn't be together. Then again, in the pit everything seems like a bad idea, even the best of things that could help one move forward in life. There is nothing like depression to bring you to a dead stop, literally.

Drugs. Never had any experience with anti-depressants except for one bout where a doctor prescribed some wellbutrin to help with the cigarettes. They didn't do very well, still smoked. Ended up dropping the meds, it just didn't feel right. Alcohol has always been a friend, although sometimes it seems like the kind of friend that is willing to stab you in the back at any moment, a real cunt. Cocaine and other "hard drugs" are just that, hard. It's like getting fucked in the ass by a large prison inmate. Feels great at the moment, you enjoy yourself and even cum a little, but afterwards you feel dirty, used, and like your ass is going to explode. It's a real fucking trip. Marijuana is the only thing that has helped to keep it leveled. It lets some happiness in, reminds you that it's alright. Too bad it's as illegal as it is around here, nothing like having the government tell you that you have to get their sanctioned anti-depressants which might kill you instead of smoking a plant which grows from the ground. And people wonder why I'm so fucking depressed.

I was about to write some great paragraph about how people can be there and help you but, it's all a fucking joke. People only make it worse, you start to depend on some cunt of a friend and next thing you know they are just another notch on the post of souls to be avoided. Real fucking hypocrites whose only need for you is to justify their existence, be it with words or my dick. There is nothing like fucking a corpse, someone you know is already dead or dying in the great scheme of your life. Good-bye, it was nice knowing you, don't mind the load I've left in your "tunnel of love." There is something wrong with me, and all I know is that I'm the only one who can deal with it. I'll stick to my drugs, to my loneliness, to a sort of conventional mind fuck trip, a trivial yet ergonomic existence with the way in which the world has treated me. A real fuck you to the stars and to the heavens. There is nothing holding me back, so I feel like I can do anything, even if it's writing about my sadness, depression, about the small moments that add up to nothing, about the love felt and ignored. Because no one is going to read this and thing "gee, he had a point." They'll only think "what a sap, glad he never made it."

Second round of publications

This is my second time being published in the publication P'an Ku, a bi-yearly publication for Broward College.

The Needle

Every time the needle tears through her flesh

to find that jumbled mess she likes to call a vein

it is her soul which slowly seeps out in amber drops

down her arm, pressure tied off by a tourniquet.

In order to forget the pain left behind by heavy hands

to extinguish flames burning so bright

that only the milky waters of the river Alf

may extinguish her core in an explosion

of eternal ecstasy
an orgasm
meant to last an eternity

but only felt for a few minutes

because nothing is eternal,

only pain is.

He wanted to hold her but he knew she was not aware

of her nature and way of being.

That her own life was inundated with the facts

that she was not like the rest of them

and quite aware she still pushed away

those who understood and were willing to help

to understand how life can be and is, 'cos

when the world is a jigsaw you need to put it together.

He knew what she was and it scared her

he saw through her skin

onto the punctured veins

and it scarred her.

It never ceased to amaze him
her beauty eternal

the way eyes glowed in the light of the moon

tender fingers ran over scar tissue

soft kisses invaded her body

as he gave of himself to her.

Because it is no the way we think it is

not as if life has everything set up.

it is chaos in a civilized society

set up to illuminate the cauldrons of reality

with the hearth of hearts
beating strongly against one another

as she soaks her panties under her clothes

he grows inside his boxer shorts

both kissing on a couch

late at night

as her hair falls over his face

and she pulls upon his dreads.

 She drags him to the bedroom

and takes her pants off

as he grabs her from behind and with one hand

buried in her crotch

feels the rivers of love flowing fast

his cock jumps
she grabs it behind her

squeezing as it pulses, she turns around

penetrates his mouth with her tongue.

She sit's back onto the bed

legs spread, one hand saying

"Hither forth."

He kneels in front of her and kisses freckles

upon her face

neck

breasts

stomach

thighs

ankles

feet

legs

thighs

pelvis

he then swims into her

lashing his tongue

she thrusts herself onto him.

The needle comes out

it penetrates her vein

and the water of life pours into her

an orgasmic overflow

she caresses the shaft of her syringe

feels the pain and the memory go away.

Burnt Marshmallow

"Wretched night" are the words that escape his lips. Walking through the back alleys of the town, garbage lines the side of the buildings, some of it is made up like homes for the indigents and lost. Each step gets heavier and heavier with the passing of time, he needs his fix. Finally at his destination, a man in baggy clothes and baseball cap with shinny stickers on it looks him over.

"What will it be?" He knows his costumers by the visage of death drawn upon their beings.

"I just need the usual... It's been a long night." A stack of singles and fives is passed from one to the other, and as soon as it is counted a bag containing tiny blue pills is exchanged.

"See you soon."

----

When he gets back to his apartment she is waiting on the dirty old couch, a thing full of smells and stains that remark the past 2 years as if they'd been decades. Her thin lips are dry and chalked, a crust under her nose and bags under the eyes makes it hard to remember what she looked like before it all started. He puts his coat on the back of the door, and crunching past plastic cups and caps that litter the hallway he scratches at his head. Thin arms and even thinner wrists still manage to gather the tools of their addiction. Straws, tin foil, and a couple of lighters of which he can't recall if they are dead or not.

"What took so long?" she asks as her head wobbles, trying to sit up. He makes room for himself on the edge of the couch as he clears some of the table by tossing a heap of garbage to the floor.

"I was just thinking, maybe we ought to get out of here soon. I mean, like... get out of here, this town, start new somewhere else." He opens the baggie and takes two pills out, rips two pieces of tinfoil, and passes one of each to her. She grabs a straw and lighter just as he does and places the pill on the metallic surface. With the straw in her mouth she begins to burn the underside of the tinfoil, a smoldering crackling is emitted from the pill as it heats up and starts to smoke, she suctions the white smoke as the smell of burnt marshmallow fills the room. He follows suit.

As the pill melts, it moves on the tinfoil, making a dark spiral as it travels on the surface of the heated metal. Their lungs absorbing the opiate and eyes widening, this is what their life has become. After two more pills they lay back and hold one another.

"I think it would be a good idea." Her hair is oily from lack of washing, she tucks it behind her ears. Pimples are sprouting like mountains across her unwashed face. When was the last time they washed? They can't remember, the bathroom is only used to defecate once every couple of days, and maybe to throw up in more often than anything else. The shower is seldom used. "I'm tired of this place, the people are horrible."

Sustaining his head like a helium balloon that has grown too heavy, he comes in and out of consciousnesses unable to talk. They both fall asleep on the couch.

-----

Sunlight. It's warmth is heating up their faces, it awakens him. She's still asleep. Getting up he feels his bones crack, falling asleep on the couch is no good for them, but he doesn't notice after a fix or two. Once in the kitchen he pours himself some water in a cup that's been sitting by the sink for who knows how many days, weeks even. After gulping it down he opens the fridge to find it empty. The last of the food stamp money had been spent on their current stash, selling them had become yet another habit meant to sustain their addiction. He serves more water and drinks it down.

Sitting on the couch he sets up another piece of tinfoil, the roll is still new and has quite a bit of the shinny paper on it. He shakes the lighter to make sure it's still got fuel, placing another pill on top he lights up. She awakens as he blows smoke on her face.

"What... oh... here..." she grabs for the paper and straw as he lights it for her. This is how every morning is spent.

"We need more money, we'll be out by tonight." His voice shakes a little, she knows what he meas.

"Alright, I'll call Hue. I'm sure he could use some release." She inhales, and holds it. Again, burnt marshmallows fill the air.

-----

She's dressed up, unshowered, but dressed up. Her skinny legs are nothing like they used to be. Once upon a time she ran every morning before going to work at the restaurant, her figure was envied, her beauty was obscene. Every man wanted her, and she knew it. Now she's just another corpse walking the street.

"Hue is coming soon, you'll have to go wait outside. Can you head over to John's and see if he can hook us up with some pot? Tell him he can come by for the money later." She's applying lipstick to her chapped lips, a bit of eye shadow, and some flush takes away the look of death. She almost looks normal, but there is something about addiction you can never hide.

"Alright." It's all he says. He gets up and walks to the door, grabs his jacket and just as he's about to close the door she says to him:

"I love you!"

"I love you too babe... call John's when you are done." He walks down the stairs and runs into Hue, he's a tall blonde man, wearing glasses as usual. He's married, but likes to get his kicks elsewhere just like everyone else. He's never asked her just what he does that he has to go somewhere else to find it besides home, he doesn't care. Hue doesn't know who he is.

-----

John's house is five minutes from the apartment, it is an old house filled with old newspapers and an array of stuff which could be easily thrown out, but John just can't seem to part with it. It reminds him of his parent's, he says. They saved all of this stuff, and now it just happened to be his watch over it, having them both gone this was the only thing they'd left behind. A house full of garbage. He knocks on the door.

"Come on in!" John screams from within. Opening the door with his think fingers, he hears the rustling of the dog as it's running towards the door. It's an old pit bull with barely any teeth left, a very lovable old dog.

"So what's up?" John is rolling a blunt, he always has pot.

"Not much, Lucy is working a job so I thought I'd come by."

"I see..." He knew what this meant, but didn't say anything. Lucy wasn't a stranger to him by any means, even shut in pot heads need to get their rocks off every once in a while.

"Hey, do you think you can front us some of that pot? Lucy will have the money for you tonight, you can just come back with me and she'll have it for you."

"Alright, not a problem." Lighting the blunt makes the room fill with smoke almost instantly, maybe it wouldn't happen so fast if there wasn't so much shit in there, air circulation might be better, but tell that to John, he'd only say that it's his house and he'll do as he pleases. He's right though, no one should be telling someone how to live their lives.

-----

The phone rings, it's Lucy.

"Yeah, I'm all done over here, you guys can come through if you want."

"Sure, we'll be right there."

-----

She's back in her regular clothes, her face is still flushed even though there is no make up on it. Her lipstick is a bit smeared, and her hair looks kind of clumpy. She's smoking a pill as the two of them walk into the living room, seems like Hue left her a tip, there is a bag with a nice stash of pills by her side of the table. This is good, he wont have to go out tonight to re up. John takes a seat on a metal chair across from them, tossing a baggie of pot on the table.

"Twenty five please."

"Here you go." She puts down her utensils and reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small wad of bills. He accepts the money and pulls out a pre rolled joint, lighting it he winks at her and she smiles.

"So what is up for tonight?" John takes a couple of puffs and passes the joint to Lucy.

"Oh I don't know, thinking we are going to stay in and maybe watch some Fifth Element." Her voice seems raspy, maybe it's all the smoking.

"I was thinking we could get some groceries, the fridge is kind of empty." He takes the joint from Lucy and inhales a large hit, coughing as if his lungs were trying to escape years of torture and abuse.

"Easy old man, you can't take those big hits with this stuff." John takes the joint from him and puffs at it. "I can give you guys a ride to the market if you need, I could use some supplies myself."

"Sounds good, now that we have a little bit of cash it sounds like a good idea." She lights the tinfoil, and sucks in more of the burnt marshmallow.

-----

It's been three days since Hue came around, and they needed more money. Lucy went to walk the streets for a little while, he stayed at home trying to figure out who he could rob and how to make a quick buck.

Lucy comes in a couple of hours later, her dress is a bit ripped, and there is something dripping from between her legs. She doesn't say anything as she passes by him on the couch, she throws a wad of bills on the table and heads straight to the bathroom. He hears the shower go on. He grabs one of the last pills and lights it up.

"Hey, Steve!" She screams from the shower. "Can you head down to T's and pick up some more blues?"

"Sure thing babe."

-----

The alley hasn't changed much, a couple of bums are fighting over the contents of a garbage can as he passes them, they don't even notice him. Shadows seem to elongate and compress, the wind is blowing and there is little to no fresh smell, it's a stink of decay that seems to linger in the inner city. Shivering from the cold he crosses to the other side of the alley where T is usually hanging out this time of night, but he's not there. Instead there is another dealer, he's seen him before. Tall and dark, with an over sized coat on, gold teeth, and a fuck you look to him.

"What you need boy?"

"Umm... where is T?"

"He ain't here... now you need somethin' or not?"

"Yeah, I need two hundred worth..."

"Aight..." He reaches in his jacket and pulls out 4 baggies, each with 5 pills in it.

"Cool cool..." He hands the money and takes the bags. "Catch you around."

"Yeah, whatever."

-----

Back in the apartment she's smoking the last pill from the last stash. There are a few bills left on the table, and the aluminum roll is growing thin. He walks in and plops next to her, setting the bags of pills on the table as he does so.

"We really need to get out of here..." He says, but just as he does she kisses him and exhales into his mouth. The hit makes him feel light headed, he forgets what he was talking about.

"You just need some more of this..." She rips some foil for him, opens a baggie, and sets up a fix for him. "Come on, smoke some and fuck me."

He get's high, he doesn't fuck her, his dick can't get up after he smokes the pills. They both pass out on the couch as the sun begins to rise on the horizon.

I awaken from a dream of you into a nightmare of sorts.

Since I last wrote two people have passed away due to drug overdose. This synthetic heroin is killing people. 3 weeks ago it was a woman in her mid to late twenties, I didn't really know her but I had met her on a few occasions, a passing face one can say. I did know her reputation though, and as sad as it was it's hard not to say that we all saw that one coming. Latest addition to the count was three days ago. Brother of a childhood friend, cousin of an old old friend. Passed away much too young, 21 years too young.

That was my news this morning, as I woke up from a dream with you again, sour girl. This time it was a bit different. We lay under a tree next to a lake, not together but with one another. Streams of air passing through the branches and leafs, I could see them as they made their way over the water up to us. Red was all over, and the roots of the tree which stretched out under us like protruding veins which softly dug into us. You spoke to me, told me that I deserved so much better and that life would give to me that which I worked for. Your voice resonated against me, a feeling which now in my waking life I miss. Hell, I miss everything about the dream, your eyes, your smile, the warmth of you. As quickly as the dream began, it ended. You disappeared off the face of the earth, much like you did in real life. Then I woke up, and received a call about a friend, who 21 years too young passed away from heroin overdose.

I hate it when things like this happen, when my mind brings you out and then I'm reminded as to why I made the effort to push you away. Well, I want one thing from life, and that is my peace with you, a sober from heroin you.

Amber Stains

Long slender fingers caress the metal shaft, it's cool surface slowly warms up with the touch of the body. Well manicured nails, no dirt underneath, cuticles pushed back,a clear coat of nail polish, all make every movement seem so well thought and placed as if they'd done this a thousand times before. They open up a small baggie laying next to her kit, just a dash is poured onto the bent spoon. Those slender fingers now screw the needle onto the metal shaft, the surgical steel that once felt so alien, now feels inviting and welcoming, the mind travels back to an amniotic past where nothing seemed like it was, you could say everything was rosy.

With one pull of the plunger, a bit of water is sucked in. It is then meticulously poured onto the pink/brown powder in her spoon. One hand carefully holds the spoon now, while the other uses a lighter underneath it. It bubbles after a short time, after which she uses the needle to mix it in. Once the consistency seems proper, she pulls on the plunger to suck in all of the amniotic fluid from the spoon into the syringes' shaft. Now she can relax, as the hardest part is over and done with. Putting away all of her tools, she leaves out only the rubber tourniquet and syringe.

She walks to the kitchen for a drink of water, the glasses are just above the dish washer, there's a bottle of Perrier inside the fridge which she keeps stocked with tequila and beer. She serves herself a cup and sips at it slowly. On her way back to the bedroom she stops at her iMac where she turns on some music to lead her on her little journey. She first has to minimize the report she's been working on, not many people are able to understand the happenings of third world villages much less actualize a plan to keep a grand majority of them fed. Though she'd had enough of that for today, now it was time to forget about everything.

Music starts up slow, it's a mix of tunes ranging from The Velvet Underground to Devendra Banhart.

Now in her bedroom her slender fingers grab onto the rubber tourniquet as they wrap the loose rubber around her left upper arm and tighten it up, teeth holding on to loose pieces keeping a tight bind. Arm outstretched she slaps the inside of her elbow to pop out the veins. Once they are out well enough she grabs her syringe. At first she breaths in slow and heavy getting the syringe positioned just right. Her mouth waters as a thousand thoughts start to pour through her head of all the men that have been there but left, of the children she's had to hold in her arms to console from their hunger, from their sickness. Her co-workers who are still out there fighting the good fight, fighting for the less fortunate, of the ones who have died for the cause. She pulls on the plunger to make sure she's in the vein, the amber red liquid spurts into the chamber of her syringe. Red viscous blood which she can now see through a small glass window on the side slowly mixes in with her heroin concoction, creating a beautiful spiral of herself and the soon to be amniotic escape. She pushes the plunger in, a slow steady flow.

At first she feels little, her head is still swimming with memories, of the faces, the lovers, the people she's left behind. Everything encumbers her so, but it will all be forgotten soon enough. Pulling out the needle, and releasing the tourniquet, a warm rush goes straight to her head. A numbing feeling in the back of her skull, a tingling, spreading a warmth over her entire body. She puts the now empty chamber on her night table, as soon as it's metal body clinks against the wooden surface so does she collapse onto her bed. Blonde hair spread out around her head like a halo. White slender figure against her dark sheets accentuates the curves of her body. Now her mind is blank, there is nothing going on that could ever stop her from feeling this way. Her body gives itself fully to the heroin which makes it's way and embeds itself onto her brain. Opioid receptors light up as her own thoughts and emotions are shut down.

Nothing matters, everything is meaningless. Only thing that's real right now is this feeling like being on the clouds. Her high makes everything ok. She's not thinking about the children, about the faces of the damned. Her only thought is "God I wish I could get fucked right now." One hand reaches into her pants, she feels her wet pussy, soaking her slender fingers as she feels herself inside and out remembering the last man she was with, his hard throbbing cock inside of her all the way to her cervix, exploding orgasms, the way he caressed and kissed her. Her brain is too fucked up and there's only so much she can do for herself right now. Those slender fingers leave a wet trail from her crotch up to her breasts as she caresses herself before passing out from her drugged out self induced state.

In her dreams she's living inside a large house, with servants who do her every will and capricious desire. Her husband is a powerful and rich ambassador who shows her around like a prized dog, with their cat about and a chauffeur wearing a silly hat they drive around town to see the sights and to be seen. She doesn't have to worry about spending her money, nor does she have to worry about having to do anything for herself. Everything is already taken care of. She goes to parties where women wear dresses worth thousands of dollars that will never see the light of day again, and enough jewelry to feed a village for a lifetime. But she doesn't care anymore, she has her dream.

Her visions perpetuate here for a while, but end up in darkness eventually as the drug fully takes on. Her sleep is deep and constant, at least until her amniotic wet dream wears off. For now though, her ethereal self is swimming about in the abyss of her subconscious. Waiting to wake up, waiting to forget all over again.

Blues, Oxycodone, and the demise of my generation.

It's been a while since my last post. A lot of things have happened. I fell in love, and then into apathy, all because of a few mishapped words. What can one do but try to give and love, if it's not returned then it's just not meant to be.

Someone passed away, someone I knew, rather met a few times. It's not so much the pain of loosing someone that I thought was a nice human being, but seeing the pain of those who loved this individual. It tears at my inner most. It's a sad reality. "Blues," as they have come to be called here, better known by their name Oxycodone, have certainly made quite the impression upon me these last few years. From seeing friends cope with the eminent addiction, to a lover who was more than just a regular user, to running into the aftermath more than once in it's many facades. This is a very scary drug, an extremely potent thing to be feared. It should not be taken lightly, and those who peddle it should be shot. No kidding, it is one of the worst epidemics I have ever seen, it is my generations version of... hell, I don't think we've ever had anything this bad in our society.

Sour girl comes to mind, that old lover, that woman who makes strides in the right direction all while she shoots up poison into her veins. How vain of her.

People from my past, from Opie, to Jerry. Those who lost themselves, and the few that found their way back.

Honestly I am at a loss for words. I wish this could stop, I wish that the whole thing could go away, but it wont. It's here to stay, and we have to deal with it. We have to hope that the ones smart enough don't just fall into it's hands. Even I, after spine surgery and such, I am in danger. The opioids that I must consume to keep my own sanity are the demons that I also must face. I only take them at night to help me sleep, to keep the pain at bay, and I hate it because I don't want to end up like them. I am afraid to end up like sour girl. Having met her, and known her as I did, does put the world in perspective in such a multi faceted way that I am able to understand that what I'm going through must be threaded carefully. It is not something to be taken lightly, as there is a very fine line between sanity and loss of self here.

If only one day she'd wake up too.

On SourGirls' and their need to numb away the pain.

Drugs have done all sort of things in my life. Above all it has made me realize that feeling is more important than anything, even if it does hurt, even if it does pain my soul. It's much better than being some zombie that doesn't feel a thing. My emotions make sense, they are there for a reason. I will always remember SourGirl telling me "why do you have to tell people how you feel? Keep that to yourself." Well, because it made sense. Because it was reality, it was something tangible in a world full of lost and confused souls. I wont deny myself feeling again. You, SourGirl, numbed yourself in order to not feel the pain of a past love, or something. Stop pushing it on others, just because you didn't want to feel SHIT, doesn't mean others deserve/need to be as miserable as you. I'd rather feel sad, happy, anything at all. Because it's these things that make us feel ALIVE. These are just some of the things that I've learned.

Mitigation in my mind

Days like today, nothing matters.

I feel dead, tired, over worked.

Yet, nothing has happened.

Nothing, again.

If one expects change, one should create it. Right?

Every time I deal with the world,

The world bites back.

Every time I deal with people,

I see the ugly faces pop up again and again.

Addiction,

Sexual,

Or chemical,

It's all the same really.

A need for people to forget.

I keep running into these two demons,

Over and over again.

All I want is some peace of mind,

Knowing that you wont walk away

To get high on dope

Or be with someone else.

Just be there

As I would for you.

But no

It's never like that.

There are always preconceptions

Of notions meant to alleviate your "pain."

Don't you know though,

That through your actions

You end up hurting everyone around you?

Here I am,

Another day with nothing to do.

I'm a little glad,

Somewhat sad,

But still I'm here

And there is nothing pulling me down

Except me.

Today I felt like I had failed you, failed me.

Today I felt like I had failed you, failed me.

It's ok though, things happen the way they do for a reason. People are easily manipulated, and do the things they do. I was always true to my word, and that much gives me the peace of mind that I need.

Still though, I feel like I failed you.

Because I wanted to save you, and it never occured to me that you didn't want to be saved. That you were happy with the needle in your vein. How vain of me to think that I could change your mind.

Still though, I feel like I failed me.

Because I wanted to keep something for myself, that was beyond grasp and beyond understanding. There were moments that we spent that I will never forget, like laying naked in your bed holding one another.

Still though, I feel like I failed.

Because it's not easy to forget you, and as hard as I try, you always come back to haunt my thoughts, when I am reminded of all the addicts I've known, I just don't understand how I didn't see it in your eyes sooner.

Still though...

Complicated

Her curly hair washed over her face casting the silhouette of her nose, a cute angle to say the least. A smile tainted by the drugs and other chemicals that her friends liked to feed her would often slip into our conversations, as an array of ideas we exposed slowly came to light, all in the darkness of the back seat of the car. Cuddled up next to each other, feeling the resonance of the others voice deep within, the conversation lingered on. Sometime during the night, the rain began to fall. Clink Clank on the steel rooftop, it made little difference to the two. Eyes melting into each other, it was aviation of the mind. Lips often do such beautiful things, spelling out words of awe and wonder for the eye to see and an ear to listen, all meanwhile they speak their own language as they swell and redden with the pulsing of their hearts. Another night, spent awake and without sleep. It's ok though, they'll have all the time to rest when they are dead. For now, it is this time, the few moments they have with one another in a car, a bar, or some darkened room that matter. It is theirs to hold and enjoy. Time slips by, and without a second notice those they care for have moved on. It is now, here, that their insatiable thirst for one another is temporarily quenched. For the few minutes they spend makes up for a lifetime without the other.

If only she had seen it the same way. If only the drugs hadn't rotted her mind away. Would it even matter now? Time clears all, sometimes even memories. Emotions are washed away from hearts by the tides of experience, just the same our faces become older and weathered, wrinkles in time.

What would you say now?

Their smiles light up the world for them, somehow they know that there is hope left after meeting one another. These short moments meant the whole world once, thought now they are only kept in tiny crevices, it is theirs to cherish for as long as they allow themselves to remember that it was true, and nothing will ever change that.

Voting - another weekly rant for B.S.R.

What is it with people not voting, then starting to bark up a storm once the government does something that we don't like? Well, if you haven't voted, you can just shut your pretty little mouths up, and bite the bullet. Without a voice, you are nothing, and voting is your voice when it comes to how this country works. Recently we just had California totally pass on the 100% legalization of Marijuana via Prop 19. REALLY? We've been trying to rectify this mistake for almost a century now (give or take a few decades), but to no avail. Then, when it ends up in the ballots it's not passed. Why? Because there is a bunch of pusillanimous individuals who like to woof at the chance of discussion, but when it comes down to it they aren't prepared to rise up to the occasion in order to enact change.

You know who you are, you non conformists, anti government types. Sure, there is a lot of stupid shit going on in our country, why not fix it? Why not get off your lazy ass and go do something about it. Bitch bitch bitch... and no action. "We want to bring the government down! ANARCHY FOREVER!" You are idiots. Do you really think that will happen? We are in too deep to just give up. Sure, we need Change as the Obama administration said, but it's not possible if you expect for it to happen out of the blue. You all need to go to the polls, write to your congressman, go visit your local government places and tell them what you think. You will be amazed at the responses you get, as most of them actually want to hear what you have to say, after all you are the voters that put them there.

Do you understand?

Now, the question of massive corruption comes up. Yes, it is there and it is rampant. Much the way that a government official takes the money from the peoples hands in order to buy themselves a new yacht so does the health aid worker in a 3rd world country use their connections at work in order to get their hands on hard prescription drugs that are unavailable to them state side. This is truth, and it is something that you should know. Best thing we can do about it is study the past of those people who we wish to put in office, and make an informed decision. It's not about who has the most posters (you fucking litterbugs), or who has the best commercials, it's about their career decisions and what they have voted on in the past. Sure, it takes some homework that your lazy asses don't want to do, but isn't the future and well fare of our country, our children, it's most certainly worth the hour plus that it might take to research these things online.

So I don't want to hear people bitch, especially those who chose not to vote because their vote "didn't matter." You are just letting the elite make all the decisions by doing this, the old timers, the people who although are full of very important and worthwhile information, are out dated and not with the times. Our generations, the young un's, we know what is up and what is going down. If only we could pay more attention to real news, not the crap that is shoveled on national television, and what our government is doing, WE WOULD BE THE CHANGE IN THE WORLD THAT IS NEEDED.

So don't listen to your friends who say "voting is stupid, why even bother..." Well, how is the government supposed to know that we aren't happy if we don't show it to them the only way that they know how to listen, through our vote. Sure, we can go march, and it helps... but without the votes, it is pointless. We fought to give blacks and women the right to vote, it is that important. Wont you make your own informed decisions and show them that we care not just about ourselves but each other. After all, we are in this together. Your anarcho dimwit friends aren't really out to help you or the rest of the people, neither are most of the people in government, and that is why we must voice our opinions, not shut up and talk in dark rooms about possibilities and should have beens. The time for change is here, and it is now. I just hope next time more people get to the ballots and make the right decisions, not just for themselves, but for the rest of their brethren.

Your's truly,
who_leo
aka Fat-J

Cali votes no on 19

No on 19 from California. Really?

What happened ya'll? Where you just TOO STONED to go vote or something? WTF!?!?!?

We still live in prohibition, and unjustly so. Undoubtedly the propaganda machine may have won this time around, but sooner or later we are bound to wake up from the fallacies beaten into us. Still though, to say that it was on the ballot says a lot. Next year California, next year.

Until then.

who_leo

Every time I'm with you, I am drunk, and so are you.

I still can't believe that YOU would listen to what some schmuck drugged out pill dealer would tell you, and let something that WE felt was so right, just slip right through our fingers.

So what if I told people how I felt? Did that really bother you that much? Seriously, it wasn't anything so bad, it was just me expressing my want and need for you, a true emotion that could have changed our worlds because you felt it too. I never went as far as to tell anyone anything specific. And when I was sad, lonely, and felt left out I shared those emotions as well because I needed some comfort. Certainly you weren't there.

Sad thing is, that I believe you wanted the same. For a moment at least, before all of the diatribes and all of your friends telling you what you should or shouldn't do.

I knew it, because you and I shared something that I haven't experienced in a long time. You know what I'm talking about, and you shouldn't deny it. Our thoughts commingled, don't you see?

What now? Well, besides trying to forget you, and trying to get myself re-situated, I've got nothing else going on. Meanwhile, you travel the world. Not that I envy you, but I do. Because it seems like it was so easy for you to just walk away from this, like it never meant anything. You even tell me that it was all made up, and that it never happened. Do you think I'm that stupid?

You said I was peddling shit, but I never did such a thing. If you remember (which I don't know if you can, but just in case you can) I never had money. Don't drug dealers have money? Don't they spend lavishly? Because my poor self certainly didn't. I was having a hard enough time trying to just survive. Yet your friend the jack of aces is selling hard core synthetic heroin to people. Yeah, and you were one of them. You think I'm blind? Deaf? Dumb? Well, I have brighter eyes than I let off, because I saw a lot more than you think I did.

For what it's worth, I tried to save you by showing what you were doing to yourself through me, although not to the extremes that you ACTUALLY go to. Didn't it suck? Yeah, well thats how your friends feel. How do you think people react when they know you are all pilled up, or shooting up in some dark room, forgetting everything, letting go of your own self in order to attain some peace when peace was right in front of you all along.

Of course I wondered if all those times you were good to me, nice to me, it was just you fucked up on some drug or another, not giving a damn about me but just seeking your instant gratification. And you had the gull to call me a Taker? You have got to be kidding me. I know all of these things now, and I wonder how you will feel about them a decade from now. Will your upper echelon jobs save you? Or will you still remember all of these sour memories like I do. Will your veins still welcome that needle, will your body still shake and ache without the alcohol. Will you ever realize you are cornering yourself?

Yeah, you know that night, before mothers day? Well, he kept twisting my words, turning them against me. He even said that his purpose was to get me out of the way so he could have you for himself. I'm not so selfish, and maybe that was my problem. So tell me, am I right about that? Didn't it just seem like he wanted me out of the picture? Didn't you feel pressured? Because I sure did.

I miss you. I do, because a friend and a lover like you doesn't come around very often, if at all. As they say, it is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all. And I loved you. I hope you can understand what that means, and all of the emotions that it entailed from my part. If only we'd been patient. If only that Jack ass hadn't intervened.

Oh, my "ideal friendship," right, that was me trying to accommodate to you. Because I wanted to make you happy. Though now it seems like I never really could have. Since I didn't have money, or cocaine, or heroin, or Roxy's, or any of your tall tale emotional band aids you use to hide who you really are. If only you'd realized your true beauty, the amazing strength of spirit that you harbor within yourself. But no, you let HIM drown you out with drugs and alcohol, all meant to stunt your mind. And the few times I tried to open you up he stunted by selling you drugs and telling you that I was some fucktard, when you two should have been looking in the mirror all along so you could see what was truly wrong. I hope you are happy, I hope you enjoy your life "helping others" while you destroy yourself and make your body a wasteland. Do you know why you didn't get pregnant? Because your body was too toxic to give any life. And if you had, last thing I would have wanted was a child born not just addicted to all of your pills, but also with fetal alcohol syndrome.


"What the hell else are we supposed to do?." - Sparklehorse - Every Time I'm With You.

Something submitted to an internet radio stations' web site.

CAUTION!!!! STRONG LANGUAGE IS USED IN THIS POST. IT'S MOSTLY FOR SENTIMENT. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE EASILY OFFENDED, THOUGH IT IS RECOMMENDED IF YOU WISH TO KNOW SOMETHING ABOUT THE SOCIETY YOU CURRENTLY PRESIDE IN.




                I’ve been battling how to go about doing this, but whatever, here it goes. PILL HEADS ARE FUCKING STUPID! Ok. There, that seems pretty simple, something they might understand and maybe enough to jargon the memory of the numb to the following:

                All around there is a huge problem with pills. It’s not so much the people, as much as it is the companies who are pushing out these extremely addictive meds in huge numbers, cashing in from every single addict out on the streets who is using it up their nose, on some tin foil, or in their veins. Now hear me out, and pay close attention, and think about this with an open mind. If you are reading this and are one of those people, you need help. If you don’t do something about it, you are just going to rot away. As they say, “you better check yourself before you wreck yourself.” I definitely mean Check into a rehab facility.

                This doesn’t just happen with individuals who are on the streets, heavens no. Those people are smoking crack, or injecting heroin, doing “dirty drugs.” It’s the upper echelons of our society that have taken the mentality of “because a doctor can prescribe it, then it’s good for me;” it is a “clean drug” and not a problem. RiiiiiiiGHT. Unfortunately it is the addictive nature of these prescription drugs that gets people stuck in its clutches, those who often are either trying to get rid of pain, or find them arbitrarily in their lives through others they know, become victims to this EPIDEMIC. Either way, it is something that destroys just like any other addiction one may encounter. So be careful.

                In the recent years I have lost more than a handful of individuals to the pharmaceutical companies, it’s just that I wish I could say that it’s because they landed an awesome job or went out to become superstars. Sadly, be it through death or just having to cut myself off from them, I have found that some just drift away ridding on their modern day dragon into the clouds of their high, not having one care in the world. Because the high they chase is more important than their own welfare, that of their family, or anyone around. Some will do what it takes to keep their supply and buyers going, anything at all, like set someone up, rob, steal, and lie amongst other wrathfully deceitful things. Such is the price people pay for drugs, in particular OPIATES.

                So why put this on Bitch Slap Radio? BECAUSE I JUST DON’T GIVE A FUCK ANYMORE! Because I’m fucking tired of having people around me who I care for loose themselves in something that is just so fucking obscene and life draining. I mean, HAVE YOU LOOKED AT YOURSELVES LATELY? Is it normal for people to look like skeletons, sunken eyes, chapped lips, empty looks and nodding heads? NO! What the fuck are you thinking? Do you seriously believe that what you are doing to yourselves is OK? Do me a fucking favor, and just stop breeding. Let YOU be the last of this fucked up line. Besides, who would take care of your children anyhow? Those who are pill heads can barely stay awake and forget what they are talking about in the moment as they are saying it, what they said to you in the past including promises and just conversation in general, they become COMPLETELY UNRELIABLE! Just not worth having around. PERIOD. It’s sad that most of these people are actually worthwhile individuals who have lost themselves into the void. Sweet dreams, dreamers.

Sincerely,

One Pissed off who_leo

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