Wednesday, September 9, 2009

dredging

lover pulls a needle out for his T shot and time stops
memory appears like ink on my vision and bleeds outward to cover everything i see
then suddenly w/ me is the lull
as he draws the liquid into the syringe emptiness arrives boldly on the surface of my skin
this feeling i must always carry
once stuffed into trash bags, weighted and sunken to the bottom of my life
the rig, the bottle, the pipe, the need, my friends
my goddam junkie friends i couldn’t trust as far as i could throw
people i loved
shot up and lost and wandering

I’m still wandering

It’s the feeling i carry heavy in the bottom of my life
the pull to stop caring and trusting to stop feeling
wanting to just disappear
cuz fuck this shit anyway
just fuck it

but the truth is i fight it everyday
the bitter break
the breaking weight
the bitter pull to give up
for all the need to go away

just go away.

to once again put my belongings into trash bags and head off into a lulling sunset
away from here
away from the dissatisfaction the disappointment the envy
the anger and the shame
get away from the feeling that I’m just waiting to die.

even with my lover on the bed beside me
even with laughter and righteous hopeful conversation sometimes streaming from my lips

syringe says remember the despair.

the clammy skin and rolling eyes and the stagger
the secret
the ones that have survived and recovered their lives
the ones that didn't
the spent love
all the sweaty desperate love that you just can’t trust

I just don’t trust me

not sure I’ve recovered much of anything, yet I’m here
don’t know why I’m writing this
why of all the people I’ve known and lost, I’m the one alive to tell anyone that cares to listen another sad story about bitter broken dreams
about flashbacks and hollow innards
about trash bags of hopelessness sunken to the bottom of memory

maybe I’m here to sing the story of needles and bottles and pipes and pills and fuck this I’m outta here
to sing the story of things you just can’t trust
to remind everyone including myself that there’s a poem in a moment that stops time and brings up danger from the depths

and in that poem that should or shouldn’t be trusted as far as you can throw it
there’s possibly something worth recovering.

6 comments:

Anonymous said...

Dearest Erin,

Maybe, just maybe you need to quit feeling sorry for yourself. Put your big girl/boy pants on and find a job you can do and quit thinking the rest of us should feel sorry for you... and paying for you for that matter.

There are many of us that have been in your situation. There are many of us that pull up our boot straps and get on with life. Problems and all....People like you should be ashamed of yourself.

Why not get done with the "poor me" blog and start a " look what I'm doing with my life" blog? I'm bored with this one.

erin ambrose said...

well, thats just a bunch of mean. "people like me"..yowsa. ableism and classism is ugly stuff. boot straps...find a job...classic. whats ironic is this poem and all of it is about finding hope.a common experience i would think. its my journey w/ that. and you are just being mean. you must be kinda miserable. if you don't like the blog don't read it. i'm not here to entertain or make you feel good.

erin ambrose said...

and i love how the mean ones are always anonymous...cowards...all of em'.

Anonymous said...

i love you, and your writing and sharing. i'm not the only one who feels that. mean commenters vent for their own sakes, not ours. yay for filtering and moderating capabilities! seeley

erin ambrose said...

hey seeley! thanks for the love and kindness. i know, i thought about just erasing that comment into oblivion but then why should such abusive drivel be mine alone to hold you know? felt better to show it.
good luck with the show! i so wish i could hop on a plane and come see.

jacket said...

I think you're awesome. I saw that you had written a poem but I waited to read it until I was in a calm, quiet place in my mind. Your writing is pretty intense and the images you conjure are vivid. I'd be disappointed if you started writing a bunch of shallow, bootstrap bullshit.
you rock.