Thursday, May 19, 2011

I'm a filthy whore and I want you to fuck me

I am bored
I'd rather live in squalor
Sitting in my own filth
Collection of all my wealth
Your the only one
My favorite open sore
Come on, help me score
living outside your door
I'm a helpless whore
Beat me down onto the floor
Make me a patient
Leave me battered and bloody
Lick my wounds
Watch my moods
I burn as hot as the sun
I don't care I'm just done

I know it sucks, but I was high when I wrote it. I haven't written a new poem in over six months. I read that Adderal decrease creativity. No wonder I haven't written anything creative in over six months. No wonder this poem sucks. I found a good Hunter S. Thomson book, Screwjack. If I don't take another shot today I might actually get through the first chapter.

2 comments:

the guy in the silk taffeta dress said...

Anna,
Your expression are a gift that other people like me can read and relate too.
They ring with sincerity and there's nothing more important than that.
You are talented,......really!
j.

Gledwood said...

I had a beautiful open sore on my leg for a few months. It reeked like festering garbage that had been left out in the sun. After a while I quite got to like the smell...

I really wanted maggot therapy on that. But that would have entailed admitting to my dr that I'd been injecting. When the bitch worker I had before bullied me into lying that I smoked the heroin (as if!!)... The biggest reason I stopped is that I've no veins left.

And the gear was SHITE even when it was full strength it was never good enough. Never ever ever good enough, unless you have such low expectations of it you only hope to feel better on it than off it. Fucking rubbishy stuff!!!!