Drug tests

Drug memories eating at my insides. Pain and black bloody socks underneath springs of musty bedrooms as man-boy trippy posters of freddy krueger on acid beating some bloody wrestler to a crying pulp gigging over some airbrushed hot model. It was just a collage on my wall, but in my state it was alive and breathing, staring at me as I was staring at it. I didn’t know how to pass a drug screen, and one was coming at work. What was I going to do? I was going to have to pass a drug screen or lose my job, and it was too late to pass a screening without some help.Where was I going to look to learn how to pass a drug screen? Some said goldenseal worked, some said it didn’t, but I had no clue how to pass a drug screen. No clue at all.

Whether I keep my job or not doesn’t matter while laying under the bed in this psychedelic state, though it gnawed at me. It doesn’t change a thing, whether or not I know how to change a drug screen…. I have issues… you have issues… Ghandi had issues… We all have issues, though Ghandi’s issues certainly weren’t centered around figuring out how to pass a drug screen!

I think that life is what you make of it. It doesn’t matter who is or isn’t watching the game if you ain’t on top of it. Maybe that was Forrest Gump, who knows? I wonder if he knew how to pass a drug screen? My mind had definitely started its descent down the slippery slope.

You’ll lose, I thought. I pondered a lot when I was like this. No good came of it, and I wouldn’t remember it when I was sober anyway.

I am beaten…
Battered…
Tired…

My insides are crushed, my eyes have become malleable like beanbags, my brain is a fibrous substance used in some disgusting orange drink that relieves constapation.

I’m at a dead end again, which seems to be my terminal destination. Think I’ll drink and smoke again, but that’s what got me in trouble in the first placed, worried about how to pass a drug screen, to beat a pee test.

Strapping life on every morning gets rougher every day, I mean, you can’t even draw a waking breath without a pollution-filled cigarette to wash away all the nightmares that invaded your sleep time with energetic and violent spasms. What’s the point of going on from there, really? To watch your corpse rot from inside out, squirming with maggots and puss? To become a microwave casualty? No way. Sweat and slave for some other guy to get rich. Do all the work and watch your organs explode like fireworks.
I’m tired of singing the same old song. Maybe the best way to pass a drug screen is to kick drugs.

It’s a bright & sunny day when you kick the habit I hear. The birds are singing… but that’s not all they’re doing… Anyway, people seem happy and content and the cell phone is quiet and the radiator blows up but I handle that, because it happened to go down when I had some coin in my pocket. I lucked into a wad of cash when things went down so I was actually able to pay for it.

…Anyway, it’s bright & sunny & all is well because now I kicked drugs and–.

I should be cool but I have to wonder, what about the last swirl as it goes down the toilet bowl?

Seriously, there’s that lazy swirl that never goes down and you have to jiggle the handle to make it finally go away.

Or there’s the power swirl that spits out blue, poisonous, fine smelling venom that devours the toilet bowl like a water spout in the Gulf of Mexico at 3 PM on any day during the tourist season, the one that devours everything in an instant.

I mean, which swirl am I? Maybe I should quit the drugs!