Teary smeary not so cheery

I've always hated poetry.
Have to say it.
Poetry is lame.

Feel desperate this week.
Teary smeary not so cheery.
Mind obsesses
and obsesses
and
obsesses.
Want to create something of beauty.
Want to be something of beauty.
Want to be beholden by someone of beauty.
I know why I did drugs the way I did when I am like this.
It shut off the thoughts.
Kind of.
It slowed them down.
It shut doors that swung open dramatically, swinging on hinges, banging walls, they were opened so violently. That's how my mind moves. That's how my thoughts move.

In addition, I liked snorting things.

I liked smoking things.

I liked mixing things.

A little of this, a little of that.

I liked drama.
I liked excitement.
Heart racing.
Where's the money coming from next?
Where's the next fix?
Liked swallowing.
Chewing.
Inhaling.
Buffered reality.
Protector.
Walls of safety.
Kidding myself.
Liked it.
Liked being a slave.
Liked being a victim.
Thorns in my bones.
Chewed and spit up marrow and
tissue and
pulp.
Liked being a pinball.
Full tilt.
Liked hating myself.
Liked talking about my problems.
Liked disasters.
Liked cancer.
Gutter sweat.
Aching.
Soothing.
Tick-tocking.

It's just not so fun anymore. Not when I'm sober. Not when reality slaps me - why can't it kiss me? - in the face.