Strange Place

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Jack loves the drugs. The drugs love Jack. But Romeo and Juliet don’t belong together.

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As if something is missing words echo existing madness. They’re always persisting. Lost self with bad habits. Identity ravaged by guilt which has managed to linger and damage the hopes meant to manage the goals I’ve established. The wind blows with a whisper. Crisp hands filled with blisters bleed black ink, sinister. Fear to blink for the monsters sing from the darkness. Ringing shrieks last the longest. Haunting freaks from the back of the mind, begging me to head for the shadows each time. Like felines ask to be pet and loved with hidden agendas to capture and mug. Iron bars, no free will. Screaming from inside of glass jars. Not a peep, air is still. To a crisis I speak, my intentions are weak, suicide is too bleak, but I shiver. Floor boards creak as the demons stalk me. I always escape. Is running my fate? Surviving is great, but what will it take to live? To choose what I give? To stand along with things I love and insist I’m not caught by the whiff of a flame? A rose by any other name. Why can’t I admire without sacrificing my brain? Am I…

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Sobriety

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Jack writes about his journey in stopping marijuana use.

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I’ve been a pothead on and off since I was about 15 years old. Began with marijuana. Eventually landed on ecstasy. Even dabbled in psychedelics. The only one I kept returning to was marijuana. I easily let go of all the others. Returned to marijuana so often I’ve defined it as addictive behavior. And I put no blame on the cannabis itself for my constant return. I’m the one with the addictive tendencies after all. Theoretically, I could have gotten addicted to anything from alcohol to gambling or sex. It just so happen to be this because it was the first. It happen while I was the youngest.

I quit for many years. Since senior year in high school until the middle of my college years. When I got back to it I’d only use every couple of months. About a year in it was as frequent as every weekend. I felt creative using it and enjoyed the feeling. It gradually leaked into the rest of the week. Maybe something left over from the weekend would get used on Wednesday. It wasn’t long before anything left over was used the following Monday. As I got more used to doing it regularly it became such a part of the daily routine that I began looking forward to it. Eventually trying to stretch the same amount through the entire week. By this point I managed to get high each day micro-dosing. As my tolerance grew I was less affected and left wanting more each time. I began buying twice as much each week. That kept me stoned Sunday through Saturday. From then on it’s a tolerance building game.

And then I’m getting high to feel normal.

The days I don’t have it I feel anxious. Depressed. Desperate. Bored. I think the boredom is the worst part. It’s maddening. Whenever I try stopping, boredom turns me back around. It’s so easy to access marijuana and instantly make all things fun and exciting. The all natural boredom killer. For a low price have a blast. But I only think this is true. I don’t function sober because what I used to call sober is the state I’ve reached now while high. High when normal, normal when high. I’m paying to avoid boredom withdrawal. The cannabis does nothing but keep me stable. It’s the only way I…

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High Horse

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Staying clean is easy if your mind is powerful enough to fend off the crave for vices. It’s simply odd feeling. Once you’ve adjusted to some form of reality, any alteration is the new high. Having been stoned for so long rocked, but I didn’t expect such a splash once I settled on the other side. I feel high being over it. Ironically, I stopped standing for shit. Living life dirty just to wash it off eventually. And then I look back and wonder, what was the point of the ride if I don’t enjoy long trips. Claiming to go on a journey and finding myself in the same place. Kept thinking there was no way out. But I won’t give in. It’s time to get high off of being sober. I keep getting older and I don’t want me life to end before the story begins. Too much to do, not enough time to spend.

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Relapse In Reverse

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Poison filled syringe poised just a tinge
Boy still unhinged with the joy to binge
Sober hell, it’s all well stoner
Loner in a cell hidden to drown the noise
Pesky voice, broken record making choices
Fuckin’ heckler making jokes
Drowsy summer, stumble and fall ‘till October
Recall deployed smoke, an attack to destroy hope
Unable to react, moving too slow
Won’t go back…

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Throwing Stones

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Some of us struggle more than others in facing our demons.
Jack tells of how he faces his own.
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The Glass is foggy. House is half full. Can’t type ‘cause I’m a little groggy. Need it at night so I drool. Not sure whether lying or right. Caught in the pipe. Dream above the clouds. Asleep to escape the night. Bare and weak I see myself. Bleak, a life, hell, shrieks. Got health. Quite wealthy. Still can’t stand my fucking self
So I bury myself, before I die and just wait out the time. Fade out the lines
Color the pages. No one else can see. But, it is what it is. So it’ll be
Rainbows sparked in flames hope to erase the shame. No. They change only the same flow 

”Don’t fool yourself, foolish self. This hell is your prison cell.
Intoxicated, you ain’t well
This isn’t what you wanted is it?
You brought it. Miss it? Listen
You had it. Dissed it. Dip-ship
Put this outfit on. Cluck like a chicken ‘till you get whats going on
Take these feathers if they’re…

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