Excerpt from AMPHETAMINE PSYCHOSIS

The small pile of yellow powder is a mountain. Right there on the coffee table in front of me. An entire bottle crushed to dust. The small mom-and-pop pharmacy by our new apartment worked fine. Or maybe my prescription forging skills are just improving. Maybe I’m just that good.

Maybe they’ll make a movie of me someday. Of my forging prescriptions and drug abuse and life in prison. My life of crime. My life at the bottom.

Maybe I’ll get clean and write that movie.

Maybe someone will actually want to watch it. But probably not. Because there are already a million movies like that. A million life stories that aren’t worth shit to anyone. Not even the person living it.

No one will want to watch it because who the fuck am I?

I’m just a person with a mountain of yellow powder on the coffee table in front of me. I’m just a person with nothing to do and nowhere to be for the foreseeable future. I’m just a man about to snort my weight in crushed pills.

I’m just a man that’s going to get to the moon, one way or another.

By the time my yellow mountain is gone I will have seen my own death a million times. I will have replayed my life over and over again. I will have rewrote my history until my past was something more big-screen worthy.

By the time I am finished here my heart will have stopped beating more times than should be possible. And I will take a deep breath and hold it in until the sun replaces the moon in the sky.

By the time my drugs are gone there will be nothing left but to sleep.

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a poem

THE DEFINITION OF CERTAIN WORDS

I’ve met people that could never be real. Because if they were real the world would make less sense than it already does. For some people to live others must die. One in one out. Like that. No one stays too long and everyone is happy.

People haven’t been happy in so long that the idea of “happy” might not be real at all. Like “happy” is a made up thing, in the way that Jesus and Santa are also made up. Not real but believed in. You can’t be happy if you don’t understand the meaning of the definition.

All language is a lie. And people are the worst liars ever. Some of them. Probably all of them.

Nothing good has ever happened to a human being.

Nothing good has ever happened to a human being that wasn’t almost immediately overshadowed by the fact that they will soon be dead. That everyone dies and no one is any more special than anyone else.

Nothing good has ever happened to a human being that didn’t make it seem like they were cheating in some way. Like they found a way to be better than everyone else.

Nothing good has ever happened to a human being that wasn’t made up. That human beings are more pretend than anything else.

Nothing good has ever happened to a human being because what is “good” when you know sometime soon you might be dead. That you can live your whole life and be good and happy and that you will still die in the end.