Hooked on his neck,
He carries his Past.
Cracked glass of Bottle,
Peirced through this Sack.

Back borne with cuts and scars,
Concious drained of Life.
An emotionless being,
Weight on his shoulders - Unforgiving

He looks in the mirror,
He can't see his face.
He does not exist,
Disqualified in the race.

In his heart,
he digs a hole
Searching for Reason,
Finding home.

He hangs on a thread,
He should be dead.

20 years ago,
he just turned 10.
A birthday party,
Celebrating with friends.

They dreamed of Space,
They dreamed of Adventure,
They dreamed of the Future,
They dreamed of the Race...

Everything to live for,
The World at his feet.
His smile would melt your heart,
Innocence as silk sheet...

...it all turned Gray,
the day he crossed the line.
He treaded on thin Ice,
A wrong choice was made.

To this day,
The opiates stay,
They took his soul,
And churned it away.

Unforgiving
They will NEVER let go
Unforgiving
His concious on death row...

WOW - did you write that yourself???

yeah, last night, i couldn't sleep. i was reading a book on a guy addicted to drugs. and that's what it's about

Wow - that was amazing, RK.

thx Tone. to be honest, i would NEVER have been able to write it, if i wasn't reading the book i mentioned above...

...i didn't know about the physical and mental pressures of rehab.


as i'm reading, it's hard to swallow some of the words on the pages..........


here is one example,


I wake and I start to shiver and I curl up and I clench my fists. Sweat runs down my chest, my arms, the backs of my legs. It stings my face.
I sit up and I hear someone moan. I see a bug in the corner, but I know it's not there. The walls close in and expand they close in and expand and I can hear them. cover my ears but it's not enough.
I stand. I look around me. I don't know anything. Where I am, why, what happened, how to escape. My name, my life.
I curl up on the floor and I am crushed my images and sounds. Things I have never seen or heard or ever knew existed. They come from the ceiling, the door, the window, the desk, the chair, the bed, the closet. They're coming from the ****ing closet. Dard shadows and bright lights and flashes of blue and yellow and red as deep as the red of my blood. They move toward me and they scream at me and I don't know what they are but I know they're helping the bugs. They're screaming at me.
I start shaking. Shaking shaking shaking. My entire body is shaking and my heart is racing and I can see it pounding through my chest and I'm sweating and it stings. Th bugs crawl onto my skin and they start biting me and I try to kill them. I claw at my skin, tear at my hair, start biting myself. I don't have any teeth and I'm biting myself and there are shadows of bright lights and flashes and screams and bugs bugs bugs. I am lost. I am completely ****ing lost.
I scream.
I piss on myself.
I shit in my pants.
The Nurse returns and she calls for help and Men in White come in and they put me on the bed and they hold me there. I try to kill the bugs but I can't move so they live. In me. On me. I ffeel the stethoscope and the gauge and they stick a needle in my arm and they hold me down.
I am blinded by blackness.
I am gone.

__________________

what book is that from?

a million little pieces by james frey

(oprah book club........ )




the author was critisized, because people say that some of the stuff was hyperbolized. the book is definately not without controversy.

hmmmmmm, and it's good?

myeeeeaahh, it's OK. i mean, it's definately a pager turner, but you either like it or don't, it's that kinda deal goin on...

Best part.
Cool, I like it.

what are you trying to say?



that was the best part, as oppose to the worst part?






lol, i make a joke with you