PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The rhythm of my heart has torn muscles tonight.

Too much coke for the soul,

Too little dope to activate the rewind button.

Wvery thing to fast for light.

Hands too shaky for midnight words.

Its had been like this

For a few weeks now.

No rest for the weak and feable.

They're my only friends

So don't make jokes

Behind their crippled backs.

As usual I always forget

About the things I forgot

And every night I run a marathon and become a junky martyr.

And now I'm in the best shape I've ever been.

I can always say I was better at life a month or so ago

But the needles were new

And I couldn't resist.

Now the tools of a cocaine carpenter

Are rusty and deseased;

Carriers of contagions

And fragmented dreams.

Dammit, shit, fuck;

My treasured cigarettes are below empty.

Only one left, what a tragedy.

Now I'm depressed

But at least I now have a goal now.

One I might actually be able to acheive

And that's a good thing,

I guess?