photo by hungrybison
Grinding my teeth,
my eyes won’t close,
My hands just shake,
I hate being a user,
I hate being clean.
This place if filthy,
there’s blood on the wall.
Awake for two weeks,
Filed under micro stories, original writing, outlaw poetry, poem
Tagged as American West, drugs, Fresno, outlaw poetry
Reblogged this on lickmymidget.
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