HC SMITTY

     THE DEGENERATE  They call me degenerate because of the way I look, and how I dress. If I dressed different and altered my appearance. They would call me degenerate because of where I'm from. I can move and they call me degenerate because of the way I talk. I can keep my mouth shut and they'd call me degenerate for the way I walk.  They don't hate me because I'm not like them. They hate me because they can never be me.      This label or derogatory term I embrace it I live up to it. I make it so others talk my talk and walk my walk. The more that I am hated, the more love I get. The ones that would destroy this degenerate only serve to fuel my resolve to live my life on my own terms. The more I live my life full throttle the stronger I become and the weaker my enemies become reduced to sneaking in the shadows and whispering in corners. I stand tall in the light or the darkness ready to face any and all that would oppose me. I am the DEGENERATE...

  How it Werks (not from NA)      Blood has dripped on my jeans from poking around in my arm with a needle that started out sharp.  The dope that fills the syringe is close to clotting the rig, which will send me into a panic. It is becoming harder with each attempt to hit a vein to see if I’m registering. It’s not that I don’t have any veins, I got fucking pipelines. Only they have scarred and have harden as a result making a clean hit difficult. Even though I’m not able to get a clean tap into the shipping lane that delivers salvation straight to my soul. Each attempt that I take a little blood enters the rig, clouding and thickening the elixir I purchased with funds that would send me to prison.  If it were to be discovered, how I got them.  I pray the blood doesn’t clot, because it will render the dope useless,if I can’t inject it. I try an old favorite, that had quit working on me a month ago. Hopefully, that month was long enough for the fuc...