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Array
(
[sid] => 137219
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => damaged goods
[time] => 2007-09-09 12:06:21
[hometext] => break the cycle
[bodytext] => Thinking of my life, as I begin to get sick See.. my father’s a drug dealer For her lust My mother became a trick. Conceived in thought of the worth of ten dollars Mom missed her monthly, I became a thought She tried to quit, said it was for me, “I remember those seven hours” Flesh crawled and skin itched she tried to fight but as night fell she bought. Five months pass, not even a thought now a worry So many sunrises we cry, I cry for more No one realizes she, mirrors mines as her eyes become blurry I kick I pull I punch, she eats but that’s not what I want Nothing craves my urge until sunset see us both scurry Scrambling for change in the sofa, sold the t.v. I kick I pull I punch wishing she would hurry Every night he’s there in the shadows hiding from the cops Gun in waist, pockets filled with money from heroin speed and rocks Mom makes the purchase, exchange words on our way, systematic set your clock My entire unborn life this has become our everyday with no intent to stop Confined to my secure cell for six months now My addiction fueled my need to liberate I entered then exited the birth canal Screaming out to my addiction tubes and I.V. ’s every 3 minutes seeing a doc Confined yet again , isolated in now a see threw, heated box Eight years into my life having trouble grasping how to read write I was told special classes and teachings would help me threw life I have not had the urge in years but sometimes my body yearns at night Something is calling me and I am not sure what it is Is god now testing me Or is it the residual suffer from what mom did She didn’t return yesterday. Dead! Consumed by the street And the bitter cold of the night A twisted tale called fate brought forth the reaper of my crave Again into my life As all four of us stand looking over her grave site My addiction temporarily satisfied as I stand directly next to the man Every one says I look like. Now twenty two, Years have passed since mom has died Grandparents put me out claiming it would help me gain pride I filled out applications for jobs they never called.. I tried Maybe because when asked if I graduated high school.. I lied Society has no place for me a physically mature child Released to the streets with no direction to run wild Petty crimes just to eat I eventually married my addictive life style I pray my life changes some day but it seems this is where I am for a while I stand on the corner of the block I got what you need heroin, speed to rocks Lurking in the shadows attempting to elude three hot and a cot My all for sale in exchange for what ever you got Pockets filled with the profits from what I haven’t used yet Living for today no regard for life no worries no regret She approached with a twenty dollar need and only ten dollars short Compromised by need, sex appeal her only and last resort The mix of addiction and lust a child now conceived Ironic a act on middle ground pleased two ten dollar needs My father a drug dealer my mother a trick Born by a prostitutes need, a drug dealers greed Thinking of my life, as I begin to get sick Damaged goods [comments] => 3 [counter] => 430 [topic] => 66 [informant] => evolon [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 19 [ratings] => 4 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => drugabuse )
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