Standing Naked With All My Clothes On

A Collection

By R.P.

This book was written in Hell

And I dedicate it to all who survived the wicked journey.

A special thanks to Kamau Jahi, Substance Abuse Counselor for Alameda County Health Care Services; for all his encouragement.
***

Scoring

I had to wait
till 3 A.M., to score
Pot-Pills-Powder
Anything

In a hurry to get back home
forgetting about taking the bus
running as fast as my skinny legs would go
in the early L.A. morning

I lock and chain
the front door
turn the music up loud

Now, I'll turn off the light
and use you as my lover.

***

Waiting for the Rush

After the spoon is cooked
and the syringe
is filled

Once again
the vein
is tapped

The head nods
as the blood
fills the syringe

The warm
glow
returns
to the pleasure
of the once
trembling
body.

***

Vicious Circle

I just got out of the joint
straight to the Pusher

Stayed clean for three months
Now .
back to the streets
on the westside of the bottoms

On the wall of my cell
a Playboy calendar
I marked off each day

till
kickout

Meanwhile I'll
stay as high as I can
as long as I can

Then back to Santa Rita

I hope my calendar is still there.

***

Slavery

In darkened
hallways of
tenement buildings

Men,
Women &
Children

who lost their innocence
to a syringe
full of empty
dreams

Wait with desperate
hungry veins for the solitude
of evanescent.

***

The Fix

We are like
dogs
roaming
the streets
late
at
night
looking for our
Master
to relive
the cold night
sweats

Panting

Howling

Waiting

for the flower of

darkness.

***

Through the Eye of the Needle

drips
the
poppy
KILLING
The beautiful flower
Once belonging to life

***

I'm a Whore -- I Don't Cry Anymore

As a little girl
I was so frightened by
the loud noises
coming from my Parents room
Screaming at each other
"It's your fault she was born."
I would hide under my covers and cry myself to sleep
for causing so much grief‑‑
All I wanted
was to be loved‑‑
I was fourteen
lonely & scared
`til he came along
older and wiser (I thought.) he made me feel whole
I looked up to him
He took me to party
after party
introduced me to a dime bag
I felt as if I could do anything
with my man by my side
giving me all the toys I needed
I gave much more
to satisfy his manly
drive
as he would put‑it
to me‑‑
Then one night
my world came to an end
I caught him with
a younger girl
I called her a "Whore."
She called me a
"Bitch."
He left me
My man didn't own me anymore
I belong to the white powder
that flows through my tired veins
I took to the streets
To be wanted
for a few ugly moments,
and snort the pain
away‑‑
I'm so tired of sucking dick
just to get a
fix...


***

Heroin

My eyes are like tombstones
My arms are like an old dart board
My skin is as yellow as the bitter poppy
My soul I sold a long time ago (Age 12)
My epitaph is already written

***

It's Hard to Give a Shit
When You Live in a Garbage

Nowadays
I hafta learn
not to be afraid
of my own shadow

My uzi at my side
on my long night
rides

Young hip brothers
Looking to score

The Black & White
slowly cruising
hoping to snag
a dealer

Tyrone was best known
the finest crack
on the streets
and it
earned him
a toe tag--

Died like his father
his brains running out
on the streets.

***

A 13 Year Old Dealer

Dying young
in the streets
don't make you
no
Hero.

***

Cleansing

The open sore
on my fore-arm
achesas
I increase
pressure &
green gunk
seeps out
dripping
from my
arm

falls
onto my
bed sheets

I apply
peroxide
on the opening

I look down
at the bloody
green pus

reminding me of
all the
bad-cut street-drug garbage
which I have taken
all these years

watching the demons
marching out
and the sickness
healing.

***

Black Tar
I
cover up
the tracks
on my
Tattooed
arms with
flannel

I'm so
thin
and my skin
is so
pale

from too
many
lost
nights

with
Cooker -
Spoon &
Needle

Masturbation
is now
my life
style--

A blow job
once in a
while

***

PART 2

There is no more a sobering thought
Than the thought of being sober...

- Drunk in Hancock Park,
L.A. 1965

***

Happy Hour

Nightly
Assassination
of Brain
cells

Last call...

***

Ritual

Nightly
I drink off
my pain

The next day
it still
remains

Nightly
I drink off
my pain...

***

Rude Awakening

I haven't slept
this well in weeks
alcohol has robbed me
of the pleasure

Awaken by the smell
of my own stench
bed sheets are still damp
from last nights sweats

Can hardly hold on to
my cup of coffee
without spilling it
all over the kitchen table

Now I now why
I have an
exwife...

***

Kiss My Ass

I don't have a drinking
problem I only drink after work, or
maybe one at lunch
along with my sandwich

Hey
I don't drink and drive
I set in my car
quietly sipping my second pint
of

look out of my car window
and see a real drunk
staggering down
the street
he falls
and grabs onto
a trash can
pulls himself up
I look straight into his
lonely red eyes and face
looking as ancient as Rome

His clothing
looks as if he's worn them
all his life

I can imagine
what he must smell like
as he half-ass-makes-it
down the street

I finish my last drop of Gin

and drive to the liquor store.

***

No Where To Go But Up

I. have lost
there is to lose

Wife Money Job
My self respect

And
my running tab
at the local bar...

***

Seven Days A Week

is I wake-up
every morning
among
empty beer cans
I slip my face
under
the bathroom
faucet
to open-up
my glue-stuck-eyelids
so I can
the world
once again
my hands tremble
as I reach for the refrigerator
to take out the last two beers
so I can make-it
to the front
door

***

MORNING AFTER THE BINGE

I'm not happy
with-the-likes-of-you
anymore

As my
reflection
appears
after a
hot shower.

***

WILD TURKEY & I

A month ago
my equal opportunity employer
fired
the
both
of
us

I should buy
the paper
and look
through
the want
ads

instead

I decided
to
drink
them

Tomorrow's
another
day.

***

SOMETIMES IT JUST MAKES SENSE

Light flickering
above
my bed
as I
lay
up on
box-springs
and
urine
reeking
mattress

I leave
the window
next to my bed
half open

listening
to the
laughter
coming from
the
streets
below

A Neon
Bar sign
coming from across
the alley
acts as my reading
lamp

I would love to have
a heartless
woman
at my door
to take away
years of loneliness.

For now I'll reach
over to the night stand
for Smirnoff
my
only
friend.

--R.P.

THE MONSTER

The monster will always be there
Ready to drag me down
Delight in my madness
Blind my senses
Tear my flesh and kill my spirit.

I won't cave to its cheap seduction
Lured by empty promises of sensation
Dizzying me down
Dragging me through its dark
lonely streets of putrid waste,
Treacherous alleys of self-doubt.

I bristle with awareness
I must stay conscious, ever-vigilant;
Turn away from the lure of the shadows.
I will not be swept away like
so many times before,
But sharpen my sword and stand guard,
A warrior at the door.

-- Laura H.
6-6-2002

DAILY AFFIRMATION

I will not drink
No matter what
Let the brain heal
Let the mind feel
Be free once again

-- Jim Ringland

SOLITARY DROP

Looking through the glass at the world outside
I see a young man who has lost his pride
Stealing and begging from the people on the block
So he can go and get his whiskey on the rocks

A bottle of hooch, his cravings it will feed
At the moment its all in life he will need
Blended Canadian he opens without haste
Not a single solitary drop he will waste

The warmth caresses and soothes his mind
And takes away the pressures of the daily grind
He fills his glass again, over ice it flows
The unbalanced warmth inside him grows

With every glass he pours, the edge he encroaches
The beast inside him smiles and approaches
By the end of the night he is no longer himself
That person has been put to the back of the shelf

He lays his spinning head on the pillow to rest
Thinking this night was one of the best
Twisting and turning all night in his bed
Dreams of shredded bodies filling his head

He awakens with a jolt in an unfamiliar place
A uniformed man says soon the judge you will face
Fear grips his mind as he strains to remember
A woman's face he sees, body dismembered

Visions of carnage flood his mind's eye
He knows if found guilty he surely will die
Twelve people in a box damn him to hell
As they lock him away in a five by nine cell

His bed sheet tied to the bars of the door
Wrapped around his neck he tightens it more
He gasps as he thinks of the family he hurt
But soon he will be covered with six feet of dirt

The last thought he had as he stepped off the brink
He could almost kill for one last drink


--James B. Moss
4.25.00