Asphalt Paradise

welcome to my relapse. Realism, free-verse, narrative poetry.

Content Warning
 use discretion before reading.

Asphalt Paradise

only 4 days since relapse and I'm already out of drugs.
this reoccurring situation is perpetually astonishing to me,

and a bitter inconvenience that I've never quite accepted.

I dumped the last bits on the table and smoked it myself,


yet I still raise an eyebrow & tilt my head in disbelief

as I raise up and glare into the now empty plastic bag.


I drag my feet 2 miles down the street to meet my dealer.
the walk back turns into a run so I can just get started.

standing in the door, I pull out the crumpled bag,

load a sheet, and chase the dragon a few inches.


and tap my foot as I wait for the aches to disappear.

feeling the buzz, I sit down in a rotten recliner.

reaching across the newly stained coffee table,

I crack open a bottle of pills & swallow 4 of them.

a creeping feeling crawls the base of my spine,

then ascends each vertebrae to the top where

it slings over my shoulder & plants into my chest.

I shiver as drug induced thoughts begin to flow.

I clench my fists & brace for the oncoming shame.


I can't cease shaking my head in pure disgust.

this familiar repulsion is because I fucked up


and succumbed to an altered state yet again.

I'm helpless to stop these God-damned demons

as they chisel down at my very will to live.

I've spent the last four years getting

stoned, drunk, and all kinds of high

every hour of every God-forsaken day.

now I can hardly manage (if at all)

to function as a student or a son,

let alone a significant other.

I've lost control of my reality

and have misplaced my identity.

I can't even get close enough to

anyone to vent or process these

thoughts and feelings which is


the most unsettling thing of all.

food junkies, brand junkies,


sex junkies, real junkies-

entire cities full of junkies

wearing twisted, smiling masks

to hide the sick, dark obsessions

that we all can't help but have.

perfectly oval tablets slip

then slither down my throat.

I need them more than ever

now to numb my mind and soul.

I took too many lefts and just

fell short of making right-
now the clock tics slow as I
sit
 deep in this asphalt paradise.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I knew many people who lived for the high. They couldn't face life without some sort of drugs. The poem was honest and direct. Some places where drugs can take you. There is no return.
"I've lost control of my reality
and have misplaced my identity."
I like the strong ending to the excellent poetry.
Coyote

[NakkedCowgirl]

read this just after i caved to my own addiction, though different than your subject matter. I relate. I enjoyed. I dig.

[stephen dillon]

this is great as like a cautionary tale

[Muse]

Despite the very adult subject matter, it was kind of beautiful. Addiction is a struggle that every singe human being on this planet can relate too. Some addictions are more ugly than others....but it's all in the same....it enslaves us....despite our better judgement we need and crave these things to feel "alive" ?

I took too many lefts and just
fell short of making rights-
now the clock tics slow &
I sit deep in this asphalt paradise.

Paradise is in our perception, being lost in a fog....the world is an ugly place, and unfortunately it's the only way one can manage to cope some days.


Par

[bpark]

you're right that paradise is relative I won't argue that, but the use of "asphalt paradise" here is a sardonic statement attempting to sum up my feeling hopeless and bitter about everything preceding that line. I felt like I was in whatever the direct opposite of paradise is which is why it was just made of asphalt. at what points did you find this poem strong or weak?

[Muse]

I'm not a critique...if you honestly want some advice "knowing that I struggle with this too" less can be more if we just reread and try to paraphrase for example:

a creeping feeling begins to crawl up the base

of my spine, slinging itself over my shoulder


a feeling creeps up my spine

slinging itself over my shoulder

can you say just as much...by saying less? I gues with poetry, I think you are dealing with a short attention span with most readers...you need to choose your words wisely.

What was strong...you did not hold back...I dislike writers that hold back in fear of offending someone. If you hold back...what's the point of writing? Creativity should have zero boundaries. And yes, I understood the sarcasm at the end...it's like trying to say you are rating a crock roach hotel with a five star review to sugar coat the situation in which you choose to live.

[Circe]

this is pretty heavy and depressing... good thing you're getting some of it out of your system by writing it down... it's very well written. still, you don't seem to be nihilistic... while I am the opposite of you (I think sobriety is exhilarating a lot of times) it's still an interesting perspective you offer and those feelings of despair I have felt before..... just keep writing.

[bpark]

Thank you for the genuine read and review, I really do appreciate it.
The things I write tend to have a tone of clarity, anger or despair, I guess it's when the words flow the best, you know?
I wish I could share your feelings on sobriety, luckily I haven't been drinking or anything for more than a couple years so I still remember what that feels like. I envy you for that without a doubt.
I know you said you like this piece and I know it flows really well and everything, but is there anything you would personally change about it if you could?