Bottle to the mouth, brain gone south. Never came back with the birds, just like my fathers loving words. Argueing and fighting, afraid to express in writing. Foot down to far down on the gas throttle, riding with the wine bottle.
Hanging around stupid friends, committing foolish sins. To negative in mind, not enough sense to be kind. Treating others to mean, living only for the green.
Facing a beautiful sunrise, not enjoying the beauty before my eyes. Overlooking the small joys, reaching only for the big toys, No respect for life, chasing misery and strife.
Inside the Methadone Clinic. Addiction to heroin, methadone, and other opiates. Destruction. The primal addiction" of the child, power and control over your own life, the institutions and the characters, the love between a mother and son. This book i
For a time, I perched myself on a flat rock, comparing my life with the Guyandotte River. Just as its tributaries replenish it daily, changing it in some small—sometimes great—degree, so have the day-to-day occurrences of life changed me. Like the ri
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