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Array
(
[sid] => 39324
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Tweeker
[time] => 2004-03-19 12:52:00
[hometext] => I wrote this poem about 3 months ago when I was in rehab for methamphetamine use.
[bodytext] => I used to be a tweeker It wasn’t long ago, I noticed I got weaker And my bones began to show. It started out as something fun I could do with all my friends, I loved myself when I was spun And then the high would end. My world would come crashing down I’d feel like total ****, In my tears I could drown Longing for just ONE more hit. I felt like I would die If I didn’t get some more, My mind would tell me “go get high” But I didn’t know what was in store. I though my life was good And everything was okay, I was in a euphoric mood Each and every day. My favorite part was the rush I would get right when I’d smoke, It felt like a great big pleasure gush Believe me, it’s no joke. Because of this breathtaking feeling More and more I’d buy, I’d hallucinate monsters on the ceiling And they often made me cry. I didn’t like to feel this way So I’d smoke a little more, I’d do glass everyday My habit went hardcore. Then I met my very best friend Ashley was her name, I told her I wanted my habit to end She said she felt the same. After a couple of days That I decided I could quit, Ashley told my mom of my ways And that rock bottom I have hit. They have both been real helpful On my journey to be clean, The help I’ve gotten is wonderful And a lot to me it means. Not a day goes by That I don’t crave that stuff, But I do not get high Because my will is just too tough. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 428 [topic] => 61 [informant] => Hoots [notes] => (Edited for language) [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => selfstruggles )
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