31 days of songpoems

*between 1996-2001 I was a meth addict. My best friend at the time was also an addict and continues to be one. He’s a drag queen in Vegas. We’d get up in the crack of morning and smoke it. By the time the sun was out, we’d been at it for hours and we were READY for anything. On certain days, as we flat-ironed our hair, shaved our eyebrows, passed our wet-n-wild black lipstick back and forth we’d have ONE SONG on repeat. Usually it was the video we had recorded on MTV of the song, playing loudly from his 25-inch wooden TV. Trent Reznor and Marilyn Manson at the Tate house singing “Gave Up.” Perfection. It helped with the application of makeup and with the swelling of our alter egos. They were needed in order to go on living. You know the feeling…

the chill in our teeth is sour with anticipation

lungs freeze in soft congestion, 

we’re covered in fragments of who we’ll become—

doubletakes, eyes spin in their sockets—

a gradient of worse to better to magick

we cannot be touched 

23 hours of no sleep looks good on our cheeks

a smack and roll before drifting into smoke

we smell of sweet bread and cigarettes

thirst lives somewhere inside, 

where voids never fill up

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