trap addict

INTP Headphones

ENFJ: Has…anyone seen INTP today?


INFJ: INTP is in a bit of a bind right now.

ENFJ: Why?

INTJ: INTP’s headphones broke. It’s going to be awhile before new ones are delivered.

ENFJ: Is….INTP feeling okay?

INTJ: About as well as a Heroine addict trapped on the outside of a hurricane resistant glass box filled with the stuff.

Trap Home 3/21/17

So I’ve been homeless for a bit now and a couple of days ago I was told that I’m welcome to stay at this place that’s essentially a trap house. Only it’s different than I expected. It’s like 3 apartments in one and everyone has a chore they do to keep the place clean, there’s running water and electricity, the bathroom and kitchen is fairly clean. Everyone has something they’re good at that they bring to the table to help the household out. Every one fills the fridge with food and this one lady here cooks meals for everyone because she loves to cook and it’s like having a 5 star meal! When someone gets an abscess or needs to go to the hospital we encourage each other to go or offer to take them or go along with them for support. When my neck was sore from the miss I got in it everyone asked if I was ok, brought me warm wet towels to apply on it, and asked me over the hours how it was healing.
Basically, it feels nice to feel like I’m apart of a family or like I have some place I belong for once.

Its 4am, I’m 48 hours on the run from rehab on house arrest at a trap spot main lining dope after 6 months of sobriety……..
—  Alcohol. Weed. Heroin. Benzos. Meth. Coke. Check
la déplor d'aphrodite

A ballerina laced with daydream.
Femme fatale with serpent’s eyes,
selling kisses as coup de grâce.
She marbles their hearts.

Fallen angels that instead of roses
are holding expensive cigarettes.
Poison herself;
poison they crave.

They told her she was art;
heartbreaking, breathtaking.
Like a butterfly trapped within a hazy addiction,
shining like shimmer.

Pearls painted from her tears.
To love is to make sacrifice.
Another night,
another bottle of rosé.

A little death,
When petals of her lips dance around your neck.
A little faith,
jasmine’s purity mixed with rain.

She’s like perfume
that stayed in your mind,
letting your curiosity go too far;
despite that all lovers lost their way.

Thanks Giving

Being dope sick on Thanksgiving with money in my pocket makes me more than mad. I have crystal, but that doesn’t fix the problem of being sick. It kinda helps in a weak ass punk bitch kind of way, but it doesn’t make the sickness really go away. I want to feel good and try to enjoy the holiday as best as I can without my family talking to me. I need to find someone to rob before I start really losing my mind. Time for me to turn into Darth Vader and start taking what I want by any means necessary. I’m going to bust a shot of clear right now and fuck up my third eye. Meth makes my moral compass lose direction and right now that is just what I need.
So I just landed a bag of dark and I am once again feeling like normal junked out self. Today is Thanksgiving, and I want to share with you all of the things that I am thankful for. First and foremost I am thankful for my girlfriend Faith, the person who pulled me out of the depression that I was in after Hannah and Mae. She has taken the time to get to know me and look beyond the fact that I have no career or stability. She puts up with me when I’m dope sick, hustles up money when I fuck all of mine off and gives it to me, makes me food. She even goes and gets me heroin and points when I am really sick even though she doesn’t use dark or needles. I am thankful for my little sister Lissy who is also lost in the dope game. She is the only family member that still speaks with me, and despite the fact that she has stolen from me numerous times, I love her and would rake a bullet for her any day of the week. She is a beautiful spirit and I try my hardest to keep her safe in this fucked up lifestyle. Finally, I would like to thank my family. Even though they no longer want me around or speak to me, I love them. They made me the broken but understanding man that stands here today. It is because of them that I possess the tenacity to keep going even though I am broken to pieces inside. They are what I’m thankful for, because without them, I would have no reason live and hope that I can one day rise above the drugs and violence that currently dominates my life. I’m also thankful to any person who has taken the time to explore my blog and look at things through my eyes. I hold nothing back when I write this, I am 100% genuine with my emotions because I will probably never see or know you. I have no reason to hide my feelings, so I guess that you know me better than my close friends. You see behind the mask, and I’m thankful to have that. I love the messages of support and the advice I get. A few times I received a message that made me reconsider killing myself. Thanks for getting to know me.

Once interlinked, fates go around and return once more
All in accordance with the wishes of humans
Submission - Kendall A. Bell (tearinmyside)

Twenty three

At 23, you flew to Kansas City, read
poems at Charlie Parker’s grave. At
23, I was saddled to someone with an
eye for my best friend. At 23, you’ve
published a chapbook. At 23, I was
working three jobs, saving nothing.
At 23, you have created an arts scene
in your town from nothing, rose above
the trappings of addiction and malaise.
At 23, I watched friends peel away from
me like dead skin. At 23, you possess
a fire of creativity. At 23, I had given
up on writing. At 23, you are already a
greater presence than I’ll ever be.


and you are up again—the covers curled into
a soft wall against my body in an attempt
to shield me from the sound of your feet
on the floor that creaks under the pressure.
Small cracks of light peek through the sides
of the closed bathroom door, and I can hear
you retching, the sound of you quietly sobbing.
I lean against the hard, cold wall and wait
for you, offer my arms as solace as you emerge,
hope that your treatment doesn’t swallow the
remains of your slowly fading light.

Big boys don’t cry

I’ve set things to be trashed
out to the curb: the old chair
that you swore was the culprit
for your ailing back, the used
tissues you piled at the side of
your computer, the dead pens
scattered like chewed bones.
The greeting cards of birthdays
and holidays past. The watches
you never wear. The pages of
poems I’ve written about you.
The useless muscle in my chest,
which has run out of beats.

This town is a black hole

This town cannot stop swallowing people
in its orbit. It takes them in its mouth
and spits them in front of trains, leads
them to garages with running cars and a
deep, deep sleep. It pushes the fragile
to the steep cliffs of Alpine, gives a
hard shove over the edge. The husks of
the broken are scattered across the well
kept lawns of cemeteries—all left as dates
on stone, as fragments of the helpless.

High Enough to Carry You Over

This mirror doesn’t see the softness,
the parts hidden by the flesh you
despise. I could show you with your
eyes closed, the quiet breaths filling
our tiny space-the ways your silhouette
falls in with my frame. You are honey
poured slowly, the last drop caught by
my finger. You bathe bloodshot eyes in
spring rain. I will cloak you from dirty
hands and the pieces of broken vows.
I will lift you beyond everyone’s grasp.

(Written and submitted by @tearinmyside)