I used to be a junkie.
The paint peeled faster and faster
As a golden world glowed,
Living off sunshine.
But it was just filled with pretty words,
That last needle,
It was just filled with pretty words.
Hope never faded.
Never.
Until I could paint the walls with
My story.
A euphoric tale of passionate razor
Liquids.
Lost to markers on the walls.
Loss was of no importance.
None.
Until I lost flesh and blood. He was my blood.
A reason for my eyes to clear from their
Shaky pictures.
Lost to my weakness, my father.
I used to be a mother.
I used to be a junkie.
And hollow needles gave me my
Salvation.
Hallelujah chorus of dirty needles.
Wax melted faster,
Diminished.
My blood glowed tainted,
And I only tasted metal for far
Too long.
I used to be a mother.
Unborn in eyes,
I knew this world would
Make him shiver.
He’d shake like I did in
The hot showers to help me
Get clean.
Untainted.
I used to be alone.
And I fear that love
Has come back.
Too strong to be so
Untouched.
Then I shake
And taste metal
And I’ll bleed for him.
But if I lose him?
If my skin’s too thin?
I used to love,
Yet it was lost,
Yet it was false.
Now I’m no junkie,
No eyes glazed,
No eyes dark,
No circles showing
How tired my eyes
Really are.
Now I’m no mother.
No small smiles,
No small hands,
No circles showing
How tired my eyes
Really are.
Now I’m held together by invisible arms
In a voice
That I’d be willing to inject,
I’d be willing to have one last needle,
Just one last needle,
Filled with his pretty words.
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Submission Name: Pretty Words for Liquid Heroin
