Confessions of a Codeine Smoker By Lee Cassanell

I sit with spiders On Webs of Fly's In rooms of damp and squalor A coiled up spring The mist I'm in Will all clear by tomorrow I'll buy some bread Get off my head On beer and Scrumpy Cider But now I scrape for Coin and cake Like some long hungry tiger. My fingers feel through Armchair cracks And touch on something lost The treasure seized Not cash or weed But a small aspirin box. I rest my back Remove the pack From out it's silver safe Pluck three pills out Put hand to mouth And lick them like a snake. I move to bite But lighting strikes And wakes forbidden thoughts My mind aroused I reach for skins Inside my ash stained shorts. I rarely shave But Razor blades I keep for cocaine nights The tablets crushed I roll the dust And turn off all the lights

Copyright ©2004  Lee Cassanell

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