K-hole

A Story by addisone

real, raw, exposure

Fast pace sugar race, caffeine overdosing motor pumping pounds of ketamine and lysergide.
I finally see: licked the plate clean, couple cups of coffee, speed sleep, no dreams.
Court house visit, shower slow and sweet while listening to the birds and winter breeze.
Split my calf open on a hammer on the floor, bleeding into the sewers, infused my blood with yours in a underground tunnel of feces sea.
Valium and two black pills that still have no name, bank statement slip and stamp, admire beauty but forget her name.
Solemnly leave heavily, breathing deep but short and steep.
Enjoy the sunshine, drive and drive.
Another cup of 5 grand coffee, cake and short conversation.
One cigarette, and probably not another.

Fake appointments with fake doctors, clients without paperwork to pay the bills, pills for the day and pills for the night.
Amateur piano playing in the basement of a million dollar house, object of success, but lacking the family value to make it a home.
Second cigarette never again, burn slow, deeper drags, light headed.
Water basement water.

 Comfort sits like dust on books, covered tittles or no tittles at all.

Sun is down and time is over for the day, a dream state sets in, did you eat breakfast? Someone made you breakfast, cause you can't take care of yourself, but someone wants to. They bleed for you, pick spines from ocean shore lines, packaged ocean particles shipped to the west farthest from the water.
Send me the ocean in a zip-lock bag and I'll plant a new one right here.
It'll take over the city and people will forget it ever existed, just another tourist attraction "the magical appearing ocean."

Swim to the bottom and check the mailbox of my old home to see if anything good has come, like Seattle in a jar, or dreams and wishes fulfilled with just a love note and far away kiss.

The piano gets better and I feel it rising inside of me, I want to scream and be heard!
Pushing out my chest like a bird, teach me something beautiful so when I'm alone I can play my own tunes to soothe the mood of loathsome.
Melancholy, passing of seconds in a freezing state, like deliquescing a planet.
Climate control at a steady state, you pay the price at an alarming rate.

Your heart in action mode, c**k and load like militant fathers pull for their families and friends, daughter, kids and the chance to live again outside a world of tortured men.

To escape is to disappear and to disappear is to not exist and to not exist is to be free.
I am free when I pull over and lay on the hood of my car, displace the stars, separate them from the blackness.
Separate the heaving whooshing of a passing asteroid, a million little pieces like pixels in a screen.
The universe is a giant TV, with all your favorite shows, like watching the smiths play live. Falling in an out, consciousness is a thin line, blink it away, like the day blinked away.

My eyes are the most powerful part of my anatomy, my eye lids are as thin as my consciousness is, so seeing when sleeping is believing in breathing in ocean spray wave takes, take after take, wind and water shove like a worried mother, trampled farm lands first set ablaze now matted graves of food and praise.

I think the day is coming to an end, a buprenorphine end.

New job, old friend but better relationship; driving driving driving, forgetting where I'm going or why I'm driving or if I should be driving, but the lights change for me in whatever color I please, but I forget the names of shades so it's black and grey for most the way to another home where substances glow and flow for days, flowing strings of yarn arms, I stretch to the garden to pick a flower for its materials and life. 

Day 3: "are you okay?"
"Addison"
"Addison are you okay.."
"You look like s**t man, what happened."

I woke up covered from eyes to chest in red smeared lip stick. 

It was nine thirty a.m. when I realized I still have yet to sleep, just dipping my head back like being baptized and tasting dreams.
An alarm went off at seven this morning and my first thought was "The kids need to go to school!"
I had a mini heart attack, though it felt more like a deep breathe, my aunt was passed out hard and wouldn't wake.
I couldn't take the kids to school, I can barely keep a whole sentence together; "Ashlyn, wake up. What time does your bus come?"
'I don't know'
"what's your dads phone number?"
'I don't know'
handmade ladder frail with acrylic paint
"what's the password to your mothers phone?"
'Give it here' ........

"Thank you."

Arrivals frantic and loud, rushing bodies to the scene, come with me she won't wake up.
I ask my grandmother to hold me so she does for a moment with an angel embrace for what felt like forever, a split second; gets up and leaves, I turn off the TV and fall deep into pseudo sleep.
How many thoughts can we really fit inside our head before our skull starts to expand?

Fill the spaces between the cracks with salvaged memory glass, plastic masks, and hurricane tracks.
She awakens when the children are brought home; we will immediately continue where we left off at, searching for her Xanax, making sure there were no substances left out on the tables and counters.

"He f*****g hid them from me!!"

  It was 4:30 that same morning, we were finishing up the last of our adderal with: 

her medical card,
my debit card,
a perfect straw

and a bathroom full of lit candles from the shower in the dark I took at three a.m.

I could hear them yelling from three bedrooms away, I tried to finish my line and hide the evidence in the medicine cabinet as quick as I could.
I should of stopped there and got into the shower and washed the lipstick from out my hair.
She asked me after he left where he was going and who picked him up, and who he went to dinner with.
"He left for work" I told her, which was true.

She was not making any sense and I began to question the drugs she fed me with fake names. We tore the f*****g house apart looking for her drugs, I was seeing black dots and losing vision.

I gave up the search and retreated to the couch. 

Then I proceeded to die in my sleep. 

Pseudo dreams repeat;

A sword swallowing queen told me there is men in black coats that'll take your money and turn it into gold; pay up, pay up!

Sour puss, trash lungs;

they fill you with the poison conducts;

smeared smiles, glass ears;

they puncture you with atom fears.

Faithless dropping pope standard marks;

We fear, they feed and everyone gets enough to eat.
There's Alaskan cod drowning in Pilsner in my stomach:
rushing bull whips at the back of my neck,
and a bicycle in a seat-belt right next to me,
country music blasting ashes from the front seat,
m88 remains on the porch with my teeth still attached,
black ink spots all over the couch,
I will be the blackout shotgun blast making faces blur like smashed pumpkins in the street,
an army poster covering a hole exposing styrofoam.
the howling of stray cats,
There's a mirror that follows me where ever I go,
the background music to my midnight downfall.
it stares at me while I eat and clean flesh from my numb teeth;
like poster eyes a poster child for my self revealed inside the reflection,
it watches me walk from one side of my apartment to the other,
of a lush touched air brush pseudo me.
We found Mary half buried in an early grave,
somewhere close to the interstate where the spare headstones go to dissolve.
She just wants to disappear but we won't let her,
with aged antics passing rolling rocks back and forth,