Lay wracked in paranoid dementia. I haven’t slept for days - how many? Six, seven? I lost track. As I was saying, I lay in my bed naked - sweating, twitching - sheets rumpled and filthy.
It was unbearable. Though the dark drapes were closed, the sun beamed in through cracks like blinding blades of fire. All the meth that I had was gone and had no money to get any more. Not for two days anyway - I was off the next couple of days. I squirmed in galvanized convulsions.
I jolted to the window - I heard someone out there. Peeking through the musty drapes, the light seared my retina as I scanned rapidly for someone creeping up the metal steps. No one. I faltered - that’s when I heard them. The neighbors was fucking loudly in the adjacent apartment. I leapt onto the bed, crouching at the head of the bed with my ear planted against the cold wall.
Thumpthumpthump.
It was muted and distant - but they were there!
I grabbed my pipe from the end table drawer. Sadly glancing at it, I saw the grey film of residue lining the inside - snatched my lighter and smoked what was left. Trembling, I turned the pipe left and right skillfully not missing a spot - inhaling the acrid smoke - taste of nickel in my mouth - twisting, turning the pipe. When all was done with the bulb end - when all was gone and it was scorched and streaked with black char - I flipped the pipe around and tried to carefully place the hot bulb end to my mouth to smoke what was left in the upper glass stem, searing my lips anyway.
I yelp in pain and wait the few seconds for the bulb to cool - my fingers now dirty from the carbon, shiny over the dirt. I smoked what was left in the stem and lay propped up against the wall on funky sweat smelling pillows.
Glancing over at the black lacquer end table, I saw through fucked up eyes remnants of meth flakes left over. I grabbed the plastic Costco card that I always used to line my dope up - raking it all over the top of the end table until I accumulated a thin line of crystal, dust, hair , and God knows what else.
I place my scrapings into the bulb of the glass pipe and light up - heat popping what wasn’t meth and inhaling all the smoke it emitted.
Thumpthumpthump.
I lay scrunched down against the wall - ear attentive and barely almost inaudibly hearing the sounds of some bitch moaning.
It was coming from the room on the opposite side of my living room!
I leapt out of bed and dashed to the other room. I yanked the futon couch from up against the wall to the middle of the room - snatching the mattress off of the futon and placing it on the floor against the wall. Returning to the bedroom, I grabbed a pillow and flopped down onto the futon mattress.
Ear firmly planted against the wall, I heard muffled squeaking of bed springs and the gasps and moans of lust. I lay for an hour listing to that distant almost inaudible moaning - my mind raced with images of random, broken lust. Sweating and quivering, I began masturbating like an idiot - using the sweat of my palms as lubricant. I must’ve lay there jerking off for hours.
Satiating myself, I licked dry metallic tasting lips and placed my ear back against the wall. It was all quiet - nothing but the echo reverb of passing cars on the street down below.
It was becoming dusk and the room was quiet and gloomy. I rolled over to my other side and lay staring at the dark red carpet - it was covered in ants! Crawling off the mattress on hands and knees - my dripping face inches from the mildew smelling carpet, I saw ants crawling around mixed in the black specks of the red carpet.
First, it was just one, then out of my peripheral vision a few, then millions - millions of red shiny ants skittering to and fro across the carpet.
I stood up - wobbling from lack of food and sleep - and returned to my bed with a sore ear. My body was gummy and felt like rubber - the rush was spiraling down and I knew I had nothing - no money, nothing to sell - to buy anything for the next two days.
I lay in my bed, body cold, shivering from the dried sweat - staring at that dusty immobile ceiling fan until finally, after days and nights, I drifted into a dark, tormented sleep.
It was unbearable. Though the dark drapes were closed, the sun beamed in through cracks like blinding blades of fire. All the meth that I had was gone and had no money to get any more. Not for two days anyway - I was off the next couple of days. I squirmed in galvanized convulsions.
I jolted to the window - I heard someone out there. Peeking through the musty drapes, the light seared my retina as I scanned rapidly for someone creeping up the metal steps. No one. I faltered - that’s when I heard them. The neighbors was fucking loudly in the adjacent apartment. I leapt onto the bed, crouching at the head of the bed with my ear planted against the cold wall.
Thumpthumpthump.
It was muted and distant - but they were there!
I grabbed my pipe from the end table drawer. Sadly glancing at it, I saw the grey film of residue lining the inside - snatched my lighter and smoked what was left. Trembling, I turned the pipe left and right skillfully not missing a spot - inhaling the acrid smoke - taste of nickel in my mouth - twisting, turning the pipe. When all was done with the bulb end - when all was gone and it was scorched and streaked with black char - I flipped the pipe around and tried to carefully place the hot bulb end to my mouth to smoke what was left in the upper glass stem, searing my lips anyway.
I yelp in pain and wait the few seconds for the bulb to cool - my fingers now dirty from the carbon, shiny over the dirt. I smoked what was left in the stem and lay propped up against the wall on funky sweat smelling pillows.
Glancing over at the black lacquer end table, I saw through fucked up eyes remnants of meth flakes left over. I grabbed the plastic Costco card that I always used to line my dope up - raking it all over the top of the end table until I accumulated a thin line of crystal, dust, hair , and God knows what else.
I place my scrapings into the bulb of the glass pipe and light up - heat popping what wasn’t meth and inhaling all the smoke it emitted.
Thumpthumpthump.
I lay scrunched down against the wall - ear attentive and barely almost inaudibly hearing the sounds of some bitch moaning.
It was coming from the room on the opposite side of my living room!
I leapt out of bed and dashed to the other room. I yanked the futon couch from up against the wall to the middle of the room - snatching the mattress off of the futon and placing it on the floor against the wall. Returning to the bedroom, I grabbed a pillow and flopped down onto the futon mattress.
Ear firmly planted against the wall, I heard muffled squeaking of bed springs and the gasps and moans of lust. I lay for an hour listing to that distant almost inaudible moaning - my mind raced with images of random, broken lust. Sweating and quivering, I began masturbating like an idiot - using the sweat of my palms as lubricant. I must’ve lay there jerking off for hours.
Satiating myself, I licked dry metallic tasting lips and placed my ear back against the wall. It was all quiet - nothing but the echo reverb of passing cars on the street down below.
It was becoming dusk and the room was quiet and gloomy. I rolled over to my other side and lay staring at the dark red carpet - it was covered in ants! Crawling off the mattress on hands and knees - my dripping face inches from the mildew smelling carpet, I saw ants crawling around mixed in the black specks of the red carpet.
First, it was just one, then out of my peripheral vision a few, then millions - millions of red shiny ants skittering to and fro across the carpet.
I stood up - wobbling from lack of food and sleep - and returned to my bed with a sore ear. My body was gummy and felt like rubber - the rush was spiraling down and I knew I had nothing - no money, nothing to sell - to buy anything for the next two days.
I lay in my bed, body cold, shivering from the dried sweat - staring at that dusty immobile ceiling fan until finally, after days and nights, I drifted into a dark, tormented sleep.
2 comments:
Luis:
This is one sobering post. I've never had anyone call crystal glamorous, but I have certainly known enough guys who have used it thinking it was one thing and ending up not too far from you.
At least you did not spend hours fixated on every pore on your face attempting to clear every pore of any dirty pus (I have a friend who, after a long crystal weekend, had a face that looked like it had been manhandled).
Hope things are better for you.
i hate that you're far more worldly and eloquent than I, Noble One.
of course now i feel the need to squeeze my face, so thanks for that. ;)
Post a Comment