“Confessions of a Burnout”

Ethereal dots float before my eyes once again
as I stare into the wasteland,
My own empty corner,
the place I call home.

Dancing dots become corporeal,
so easy to feel.
I disrupt their tangibility with my trembling hands,
reaching out to grasp at something (nothing is there)
Except the dots;
And I feel I can touch them--
they dance
they sparkle
they glisten with the methamphetamine sheen of d3lU$ioNs

Is this an illusion?
It is my illusion.

I laugh out loud at the sheer madness of it all.
A group of girls with bows in their hair turn to stare but what do they know?
They’ve never walked in my shoes, my worn and dirty converse held together by duct tape I nicked from a CVS while picking up cigarettes which satisfy but for a while,

a passing high.

The last time I experienced the real thing was after I had gotten eighty bucks from fucking a man in the back of a beat-up Sedan
and that was days,
weeks,
months ago

How long has it been?
Has time even gone on or am I still trapped underneath the demanding loins,
crying out with insincere bliss, saying
OH how I WANT it...
OH how I NEED

A drink...
Just one to dull my mind
And lessen my thoughts
That race so fast
making ethereal dots
f l o a t
before my eyes once again
As I stare into this wasteland…