nightmare in crackhouse

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
upstairs.
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.

great.

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
crying.

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.

so stupid.

i dont know why i thought that he just wanted to give me drugs
for free.

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.
AT ALL.

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.

i say-
'here, take the bag back. i dont owe u anything.'

i didnt have it in me.
i was twerked-
frazzled.

'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

panic.

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-

just terror.

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.