he put a sock in the door where the doorknob is,
and pulled it closed
so it would stay tightly shut.
the lock was broke.
but the door needed to stay shut.
i was in a crackhouse in the city and
i dont remember how i got inside and
but thats where i was.
his brother kept feeding me crack and
their aunt was in the living room pacing back and forth
high off the crack.
i asked them for a spoon and cotton,
so i could shoot some of the crack once i
cooked it down.
they got it for me.
but my needle plugged up,
so it was a waste anyway.
the two drug dealing brothers kept giving me more
crack to smoke.
and my mind stay focused on staying high-
no matter what.
the aunt yelled into the room saying-
'she better not be no junkie up in my house'
and i quickly hid my works(needles),
but wondered why she was so worried about me being a junkie-
when she was smoking crack at the same time.
like there is a big difference.
the sock was in the door.
so the door would stay closed.
now i started to see why they kept giving me crack...
to make me do something i didnt want to,
to get more.
this was another time in my addiction that i remember
and telling them that they were hurting me.
they were like evil controllers and
i was like a desperate puppet.
once i got outside and back to my car...
there was another drug dealer waiting,
leaning up against my car.
'hey u need some?'
'yea, give it to me now.'
'ight, take me around the block.'
...he got in my car.
i dont know why i thought that he just wanted to give me drugs
but at that point-
i was so gone in my thoughts and actions that
i was roaming in the 'addict frame of mind'
where u do things that do NOT make sense.
he hands me a ten dollar bag of crack.
and i take it and i cant find my pipe-
and im starting to realize that he's gona want something from me-
i take some of the crack out of the bag and
hide it under my left leg and re-close the bag.
then i give the bag back to him and say-
'i cant smoke this, i dont have my pipe.'
'o no, ur not gona get off that easy.'
he demands that i pleasure him.
'here, take the bag back. i dont owe u anything.'
i didnt have it in me.
i was twerked-
'nah, i think u do owe me. there is some missing out of here.'
'no there's not, i swear.'
i really wanted that hit for free.
we get into a physical fight.
he grabs my keys out of the ignition and i
i tell him, 'im gona call the cops.'
then realize how dumb that sounds.
'go ahead, call them- u'll be dead by the time they come.'
he shoves the pistol in my ribs.
no time to feel pain in my side-
i finally give him the crack that i took out of the bag
and tell him i did take it out and that i was sorry and that he can have it
back, so he can get the gun out of my ribs. so i can go find some more drugs, so
i can forget, forget, forget.
then i dont remember driving to a 'friends' house.
but i was there.
he gave me valium
and it was quiet and peaceful there.
but not for long.