Came down off my high with large doses of sleeping pills. Its all good if you know the tricks of the game. I needed them too. Ive also collapsed a f**king vein. Too much needle attraction. The lure of the gun. Syringes are known as 'guns' on the street. Funny how everything finds a better sounding nickname on the streets. Everything gets a new identity including people, and we lose ourselves in this world with a different language, a different currency, that suited hobos will never experience.
They live in sober cocoons. We of the kerb, we wild princes, taste it all. From morning dew to the foam of waves, crashing on sunny beaches. We find intoxication in most things. There's an art to it. Once you find your curious soul, the cravings of the deep will reveal themselves. Just widen the horizon beyond all sensible limits. We poets ought to charge for this mystic information.
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