Strung Out
I'm passed in an
alley but the feeling
doesn't hurt, I feel
some kind of way
because my shoes
don't match my
shirt,
the tracks descend
my arm to form a
highway made of
veins, I'd sell my
soul for one more
hit of you, addictive
dame.
My clothing bears
the stains of where
I've shot you up for
months, I'm not
ashamed to say
that you're the only
thing I want,
or need in life for
breathin right, I
don't know what to
do, 'cept tell the
honest truth which
is I'm strung out
over you.
You hit my blood
like nitrous ox, I feel
it in my toes, it
happens every time
I go and sniff you up
my nose,
or shoot you in my
arm or neck,
wherever needles
plunge, that have
me spittin bubbles
like The Wire
Season 1.
I know that I'm an
addict but what else
do you expect, the
distance that I'm
walking far exceeds
a dozen steps,
I've stole my
mama's jewels for
you and cashed my
cousin's check, to
get enough of you
to last but there
was nothing left.
You've cast that
hokus strokus now
my brain is all
amiss, I'm just a
ghetto boy I guess
my mind is playing
tricks,
hallucinatin deja vu,
for you I am a fiend,
like Bushwick Bill
punched concrete
early 90s Halloween.
No need in getting
clean, I couldn't
handle the
withdrawal, for
methadone there's
sex alone, I wanna
get it on,
your cream invades
my seams and
seemingly the cost
is small, the hours
pass like minutes
look at me, I've lost
it all.
It's raining cats and
dogs outside, this
weather is a beast,
I dig amongst the
garbage just to find
some food to eat,
but nourishment is
last upon the list of
treats I seek, you're
1st and foremost in
my mouth of things
I love to eat.
I'll prob'ly die inside
this gutter but won't
stop because, I've
shot you up so
much my hands are
now like boxing
gloves,
a dirty stinking
junkie's what I am
and what I was,
another word for
drugs oh yes, I'm
strung out on your
love.
Copyright © James Lewis | Year Posted 2011
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