More Dope Please.

I’m sure I can solve this problem one day. We will fix it one pill at a time. I’ll eat up as many scripts as you can write. Just hand ‘em over and I’ll devour them one at a time.

How many has it been? I really can’t remember. These drugs have eaten my memory to a very loose pulp. There’s absolutely nothing left up stairs besides finely shredded pieces of tissue. They weightlessly float around my skull, like one big cooler of Hairy Buffalo.

What’s next on their menu; my heart, my soul!

More Dope Please.

Smoke a joint; pop a Prozac. I’m on top of the world. Add a couple Valium to the mix; a standard fix. My mind can finally rest; although the pills have done absolutely nothing to solve this problem and the problem still exists. It is temporary fix, which will most definitely resurface. I live within this poor frustration; just waiting for what’s next.

In the mean time the dope boy’s bank accounts grow larger and larger; either which way from the doctors’ office, all the way to the street corner. It’s all about money; human life doesn’t mean a thing. They have taken everything from me.

More Dope Please.

I’m not sure if this is what insane feels like? I’ll let the Valium decide.

Correct dosage? Well all of that is temporary anyway; two can turn into twelve, fast.

Then you’re right back in it. Asleep standing up; the world can be so grey.

I swim recklessly through a pool ten foot deep. I tread through this muck; made up of brownish, green color. It’s made up of my own self-loathing. Bits and pieces of matter that are drawn together by periods of job loss, credit card debt, police run-ins and domestic issues that come in a crazy assortment of various shapes and sizes. It’s simply disgusting.

My arms are growing tired from the swimming; but happiness is still very so far away.

More Dope Please.

I hope one day I can swim my way out of this mess, but for now I’m sure the amphetamines will keep me a float and according to the dope boy’s; that’s the fucking answer. It will cost me the rest of my life to stay comfortable … You have now created an addict. A slave, stuck in neutral. No cure, just an empty brain, backed up by an empty bank account. The only point to survive is the high. All day long; the only thing you can call me is the breeze, I’m blowing away.