1 racing thoughts.  high again.         outside in windy cold streets.  my pen's too cold to flow out smoothly.  it started this morning with an excess of stress.  not enough sleep makes bad things reappear.  & i, again, am sure of nothing.  this speed makes me think so indecisively. i try to breath real deep.  ideas seem to float in the air around my head, aching to be chosen.  we mention them sometimes but i always hated making decisions. i guess i just don't want to be in control of my fate. i believe in things that put me at ease, and chose amphetamines over sleep. contradictions seep from my pores and complicate my aura. and somehow i just manage to be. Peach... the breeze is cold and smells only faintly of the ocean.  Salty, free, fresh, away.  Happy Easter monday to me.  We're stuck out here with twelve blankets to keep us warm.  But when you're out this long, nothing stops the cold.  I've become so nervous, so afraid of life these last few years.  i don't like it.  this can't be the real me.  the taste of amphetamines puts me in a dream i feel i can't wait to wake up from.  it's clouding me.  it's ridiculous and exhilerating. i need to breath.  i'm still waiting to write down the perfect sonnet, leave a legacy.  but instead i'm decaying in an alcove on cold city streets, and i can't remember the formula.  when did this happen to me?  it must have been before i even started.  Maybe i'm not in control of my fate.                                        2 the first night (the story begins) i'm mildly trembling.  Dale's coughing.  Vince is walking off to go get high.  A sleeping homeless man in wrapped up in sleeping bags.  i can't see his face.  H has no name.  the tallk has been soft and minimal.  briefly vague ideas remain scattered on the walls above our heads. while an undercover cop watches us from a safe distance.  i smoke another cigarette.  it hurts my head.  We're all just waiting for nothing but want to call it something so we look preoccupied.  the sleeping homeless stirs, coughs, and complains of the cold.  i hand him a cigarette.  hi, i'm Vince's girlfriend, Peaches.  it's just the guy we call crackhead Bob.  Another so-called lost cause.  Are the drugs that good or are we just that weak? we're avoiding problems by creating bigger problems.  Anxiety and ADD seem weak when you're ready to get on your knees for 5 minutes of release. We're great at mis-naming things.  it's not release, it's locking it all in and turning it off.  the crackhead leaves to take a leak.  We're still being watched.  Our ideas to leave are getting heavier and beg for a choice.  But we still just sit and bitch about the cold.  the crackhead can no longer sleep.  the only sounds in this quiet town are scattered cars two kms away, and some candy wrappers that dance on the pavement with help from the breeze.  Dale sings a little, gently, a song about me.  My boyfriend's cough and then he reappears.  i put on another sweater, i'm trembling a little more heavily.  And he asks me to give more stuff of mine away aint he sweet?  My trembles are more like shivering.  Vince does his best to take care of me.  He begins to speak.  A crackheads laugh enters the scenery.  The blankets i'm smothered in make peace to my legs.  my boyfriend smiles.  He's high again.  the conversation brushes back against our plans of action.  the crackhead turns out to be rather pleasant.  he's sober and smiles.  they're somehow acceptive of this.  there's a soothing hint of earth's scent in the air.  it's just us and the remains of man's effect on the world.  it's time to smoke more amphetamines.  while we pack dale's syringe full of chemical heat.  we switch seats.  i'm freezing again.  i wish he'd stop giving my shit away for free.  i guess having everything handed over to you gets you into the habit.  we flail.                                                     2 getting higher.  after struggling with a misshapen, missized, mis-made gak pipe and inopportune blasts of wind, me and crackhead bob feel a hit of exhileration.  this $50 trip cost me $200. flailed.  And i get bitched at for a $40 bottle of jack.  we hide in a more hidden alcove.  we're safe from the freezing cold winds.  these few gak tokes seem to have taken bob's cheerful alertness.  he pretends to sleep.  he hasn't laughed or smiled once since i passed him the pipe.  it's awfuil.  hs whole life on the streets is probably based on drug use.  And drugs just remove all admirable qualities from him... Silence fills the air.  it sounds like rain but it can't be.  i'd love a pound of amphetamines.  a better scene.  it's my fault, i didn't want to look like a fiend.  it's money. it's much more silent here, i can hear the pen make lines on the page.  my heart is beating heavily, begging for mercy or just reminding me that my whole life depends on its' beats.  Birds sing.  it's only two am.  with nothing but a point and a half and vince feeling jewed, i feel a premonition, more meth getting moved.  Bob's breathing sounds like the thoughts in my head.  why are we doing this? i feel less sick of the world.  But frustration's intensify, it's so hard to find a compromise.  we both have our ways, and they're both the right way. Now the four of us are sitting together again.  i wish i was laying in my bed, fearing death.  while vince carries all the burdens of the world and preoccupys his mind with the dilemnas of everyone else, while his own problems rot in a cardboard box in the middle of the road, that's too heavy to move.  And i get to be a part of it all.  fuck, 10 000 notebooks couldn't capture it all.  there's beauty and poetry in the simplest of moments, and i don't always have time to write it down. Dale, calmer, isolating, sits in the opposite corner.  And Vince, subconsciously is still not sitting close to me.  i try to decide if i'd rather time speed up or slow down.  this moment could turn out to be the greatest i've ever done.  i haven't been listening much, which turns vince's voice into a soothing drone/  it makes me feel comforted, it reminds me i'm loved.  i feel i could sew a blanket from his words, and wrap it around me to block out the unpleasantries of the world.  he walks away in hopes of solving a problem.  to help someone else so noone realizes how much he needs help.  i wish i could shake him til his stubbornness dissipates.  he's pacing in circles to avoid center stage.  himself.  i hate sobering revelations, they get in the way.  Dale plays some techno from his cellphone and my heart pounds to a different beat.  Conversation hangs on life support with Vince not around.  But the techno affects me.  it completes the empty sounds.  i don't feel like moving, i'd rather curl up in teh dark.  or maybe on a grassy patch of land where i can dip my toes into the ocean.  i speak. i understand.  but my vocabulary doesn't relate.  i'm a stray.  And my sporatic sex life keeps coming up in teh banter.  it doesn't bother me here.  when i speak it seems to strain my brain.  they're nice, but they're not the brightest people here.  Ane we just sit around these 4 concrete walls that serves as a stairwell during the day/  i've found no place i can permanently stay. big major changes all throughout my life turn my existance into a plethora of short films that contain an actress who's appearance is drastically changed in every new release.  you'd never guess they fit together chronologically.  but i guess it's nice.  instead of one long life i get a series of short lives.  i'm ready to end this life of the anxiety-ridden, secretly terrified, isolated and uncertain pretty girl.  i start over, again.  here i sit in my preview to my new life.  Dale chokes on exlicit remarks of the elderly. it's kinda funny but too quiet down here.  i think i can actually hear the throbbing in my head.  3 empty stomachs with another out on the run, none of them want food.  i feel  like blowing a fuse for something to dothese 4 concrete walls that surround us leave no sense of warmth, life, anything at all.  it's like we're paused and remaining til the rest of the world wakese up and provides entertainment.  yes, this is so much better than sleeping alone at home.  it's different, it's not conformed.  the tension from my last hit is dissipating.  i'm no longer angry and resenting.  if auras were made of paint i'd turn this stairwell periwinkle blue.  these drugs last so long, i could throw a life in there too.  we just lounge in layers and layers of clothing, enjoying each other's company, i suppose.  but words to speak out loud don't come freely and we remain here, internalized.  high.  i light another cigarette.  Dale fumbles around.  Bob just lays there in his stupor, i wish he didn't do drugs.  Vince is still gone and could be all night.  forgot to give me a kiss goodbye.  my mind's thinking in rhymes and it gets irritating.  but somehow when i write my thoughts stop debating.  i can almost get them all in one train.  dale's found a sharpie, i guess it's time to vandalize these walls, leave my mind here for an eternity, or until a good rainfall.  my bodyes a demand i can't ignore much longer.  its timet o venture out to take a leak in the parking lot.  it's so silent here, it's trippy. and Vince is here, he's here again.  i feel better and rellieved again.  i wish i could spend the whole day with him, alone.  Maybwe he does help her out more than he does me.  But i love him enough to see this through a little longer.  Bob says "chase the stain"  he's fiending out.  i don't have enough to help him out.  i just can't support all these drug addicts on my salary.  it's killing me.  i guess i need better company.  my will is weak.  insecurity, indecision, and doubt cloud me.  i'm stuck on 'e'.  time for lliberating. the time has almost come to leave this dark corner of the world.  around 4:30 AM.  Me and Vince's conversation is strained and agitated, as always when we're high.  we're stubborn and we're stuck in our routines.  We're both afraid to falter off our righteous course we feel is best.  More talk of shooting me up and i continuously refuse.  Bob, almost sleeping.  The young ones are rummaging through the flailed contents of their backpacks.  he eagerly tries to help heal the slices of broken skin around dale's eye.  streetlife.  with a little more meth-amphetamines my heart picks up speed.  but a lack of sleep makes my eyes feel weak.  Birds sing and the sun is somewhere rising.  the time has come to enter the dawn and get out of this stairwell hole.  we'll watch the day break the night and crush the shelter of darkness it entails.  a NEW DAY.                                                 3.  everything begins to change Underneath the bridge.  it feels like windsor but it's beautiful.  strained conversation breaks the silence & the singing of the birds.  the breeze feels soothing now.  it's comfort.  the earth loves me.  stories of the past.  i am here. everything changes.  nothing's the same.  new information has been seized.  i just don't know who to believe.  and i am not in the state to make a proper decision.  i do this for myself.  time to erase my own hell.  we wait in the welfare office to call for more drugs.  it's just me and Dale now, Vince got pissed off and walked.  7-ish pm. we sit on a streetcorner still riding the high.  and vince's inner demons break through all sides.  we passed him in a ferver of rage and excession.  he wont soon gain freedom from this.  not one kiss told or unsold.  the night was the barrier between two stories to unfold.  the sun is warm now, and bright in the sky.  salvations till seems like a bird floating by.  the time that's passed since i smoked that first hit was a sequence of journies and secrets unkept.  don't know who to trust or just walk away.  but i liked his skin pressed against me today.  i know everything will be okay once this storm blows over.  what a great cure for boredom!                             4.  conclusion of this trip.  (every stone's been turned over to reveal disgusting disease.  My boyfriend, the liar, falls over in hipocracies.  a partnership provided for a good place to sleep.  and all your drugs for free.) wednesday.  3 days later i'm on the ferry back to vancouver, my home for only 10 more days.  i've had no sleep but i've had vivid dreams.  10 thousand truths became known to me.  A single snap into psychosis and the right person to take care of me brought the  missing puzzle pieces.  i am free.  i can finally see through the paranoia with the right facts known to me.  i realize things arent always as they seem, in a wider variety of things.  sometimes we reverse their meaning to meet simple inquiries.  All the pieces layed down in perfect systems.  Your smile and your face live on in rose-colored haze right beside my brain.  but it's too soon and im too freshly fooled to swoon over you.  i feel like you feel it too.  i've already inprinted on you.  trying so hard not to ignore the rules.  get so caught up in the limelight we forget about backstage.  im trying to read every page of this book.  but sleep deprivation blurs through the rules.  in waves i almost forget who im coming homoe to.  i could not handle much more of those tokes.  another night or two and i could lose my cool.  i want to come back to you. the ferry is full of unanimated fools.  their prime life's purpose is to work like a tool.  i can stand on an alter and pretend im the one that's cool.  but we are lost, we are the losers.  My eyes hurt.  flailing, making out.  a good head start.  rushing into the box.  some of this might not even work out.  we must rapidly prepare, get ready to dive into romance.  risk everything on half a chance. my eyes grow weak and blurry i take the pen and paper away from me. when i get home, i can smoke more meth-amphetamines ps. vince may be worse off than he seems.

Yes, AGAIN.  who knows why.  VANCITY.

(one week later)

1. introspection

the twuilight disappears and i am caught in the sunlight.  naked exept for a black towel.  i feel like a blank canvas, one who has flaunted a milliion portraits before but has been hastilly re-primed, covered up, to start a whole new masterpiece from scratch.  i am never sure if i am post-poning my fate or genuinely changing it.  if i make a wrong turn here, will all my dreams shatter?  is the end and/or beginning just one brisk step away?  i change my fate with my face.  my aura glows to different tones.  each character i give up on is lacking dimension.  God forbid there are more than two sides.  who am i?  im racing in different directions but the similarities re-appear.  right now, more than ever, i am un-aware, un-certain of which direction i'm climbing in.  a perfect composition, aren't i? 
desperately trying to break through all the lies until i find myself in the center of the world i've spent my whole life avoiding.  there seems to be no escape towards truth.  i wonder if anything so beautiful even exists in this world.  maybe we create our own molds,  Does anyone know the truth?  is anyone really sure of their lessons learned?  the memories that bore them?
maybe i am not alone.  maybe i could defeat my foe, if i knew who they were.  sometimes i feel i am caught in a warped, trembling circle.  i wonder if this is what they tried to teach me in rehab.  Dale is close by and far away.  Drugs they turn real personalities fake.  i watch the sunrise for perhaps the last time on ym balcony.  a great stage this has been aside from all the depression.  i feel i'm letting go sometimes and it feels divine.  but i'd rather get wasted and call it a night.  drugs feel worse but i think like i've go tmore control.  more acceptance of the traits i fear are too bold.  i know nothing but long to be certain.  to feel good.

2.  randomness

(two lambs graze on soft blades of grass.  while one gets slaughtered the other runs away.  sprinkle of fate or harsh mistake?  human forced intake)
-hollow are the eyes of a liar.  warm are his compliments shredded in his attire.  his smile can warm your soul and provide a soothing effect.  he mesmorizes you, casts a spell on you, until you believe all his vile untruths.  a few trusts proved and you're ready to move.  and your whole life can get swept up beneath you.  while we get caught up in the glory and the high, we stop putting up a fight.  his eyes sparkletil you forget all your known truths.  and you're lost and standed in the seas of their abuse.  i don't trust you.

3. reflection on you

is it me or who i chose?  i ache to feel the particles of something new.  a truth.  a risk on half a chance.  i've only got myself to lose and i can only grow stronger with each bruise.  or open wound.  you can lick it too.  what am i going to do?  these situations i weave myself in to.  i hope you feel me too.  i've got a lot more love to lose.  a lot more strength to use.  a million words could not express all the mental torment.  the things i cant forget.  or express.  though i feel i'm at my best.  i can get through the rest.  cheers, to a whole new life. 

4. 

when two souls meet they share the same wavelength for a moment.  and if we forgot about our games and protecting our flaws, there would be no need to even speak.  hearts they beat, they can hear each other.  there is no truth in words, just energies.  a wave, a blank page, a hyperbole.  we can just breath. 
Hold me, it makes the minutes worthwhile.  we spend our whole lives just trying to find someone worth coming home to.  with so many sub-societies existing at once, why must we chose? i'm losing focus, losing sleep.  i could be dreaming of something sweet.  i can still cave, but i doubt i will ever completely melt.  a pretty hate machine, the mask is my hell.  free me from myself, and i'll feel fulfilled.  someday these pages could matter to someone, or they'll get lost and buried away.  but the art in it remains.  Dale plays.  in our euphoria creativity flows, and conversations dont cause remorse.  in the midst of it some hope calmly glows, that could be useful on the way to meth overdose.  i hate this current writing i'll stop and drink my coffee.  i love sex with someone who cares.  feeling close.

5.  dale's lies
"the truth in my hands, that i am not sick, i don't live in sin... this isn't freedom, this is control"
in seperate rooms we share a home.  we're in this together but really alone.  i can smell teh lies but procede to waste my time.  why?  nothing else better to do i suppose.  my source of will or intuition is frozen cold.  i can't let myself hear it now. 
here he lays on the couch, text messaging on his phone.  and i know.  i know.  i've been through this before.  i sense his nervousness at the suspicion of my cause.  he doesn't feel enough, no more than i.  i can't keep writing of my tired and hopeless heart.
Vince was better at pretending.  or dale isn't good at sincerity.  i watched him lie to me.  stolen videos of me.  what's left to believe?  i know nothing.  i feel i'm ready to let go of everything and move on.  i've been built strong.  i guess i'll just keep following along til a better idea appears.  i want this cycle to end.  i'd like to be sure i have a friend  everyone deserves to trust someone, right?  fuck, i can't get my thoughts out properly anymore.  brilliance diminished over-night.

6.  myself and my drugs

are we running on empty to change the routine?  did glory leave us spinning in this hole? when the party was over we stuck around and didnt stop til it came back again. 
now we cling to amphetamines while they chase their stress down with a few beers.  i'm not sure i'll ever be here.  i'm not sure i'll ever be here.  i'm not sure i need to.
my past seems to torture me less as i grow up.  i don't need the answers.  i'll still get there.  i don't really need to know where intuition ends and paranoia begins.
i'll drink the whole bottle and reak like your skin. 
and my opinion of you can rapidly change, it depends on the state i am in.  and sure, it's hard to believe in anything after my breakup with vince.  it could be healthy.  i feel like i can try again, again and again.  no heartache has yet compared and i doubt it ever will.  next time it's for real. 
fuck this is lame, are these my only thoughts?  i'm spinning in circles to protect my own heart.  though it feels like it's stored in there locked away safe. 
or it's not mine to give away.  there is no proof to any of this, that i can believe.  i guess i have to trust in what i feel.  what's real?

7. sunday.  more drugs in stow

i'm fucking blowed.  creativity flows.  i can't hold it all in anymore.  i might explode.  another point and i'm coming home.  no remorse.  time to implode.  hahah.  bright lights, endangered tones, when you gonna tell the truth?  you bought he dope.  we're not alone.  i'm not the only one in your home.  it's okay, though, i suppose.  i can still feel my pulse. 
this house has turned into a place where tweakers roam.  fucking stoned.  jacked, waxed, and lit.  maybe i should take another hit, hahah.  i  miss my friends, if i have them.  i'd like to feel the skin of someone warm-from the soul. 
his eyes are cold.  the drugs take hold.  he fits the mold.  i'm tweaking out and twittering in pages.  my heart and deeds are kept in cages.  feeling a little obliterated.  i think i can fake it.  i'll make it.  decisions they roam in highways above our heads.  and your lips are carved from stone.  i don't know who you are.  is this how it starts?
are you just afraid or abusing and taking?  only love can stop the hating.  i'm flaking.  my mouth tastes like speed.  i surge through incredible heat.  your face between my knees

8. nothing, really
i am unemployed, self-enjoyed wearing sunglasses at home at two am.  fuck it, savour it, it wont last forever.  i'll write a love letter then rip it to shreds.  ash on my carpet cause it's almost the end.  escape it again.  i'll make new friends.  become my very best.  oh yes.  during the dawn when the sun falls we'll fuck like monkeys at the ball trippers ball.  i'll create a new world and fresh self-expression.  farewell to torment and depression.  he plays a video game guitar.  conversation does not hang like a mushroom cloud of sponteneity.  we just are at peace.  amphetamines.  time to create

tried to save myself but myself keeps slipping away.  NIN.  fuck i've been roaring though.  5:30 am now.  don't know when or how i'll get my stuff over there today or this week.  or ever.  vincent could have a point but i need a place to live my life on the line.  fuck, might as well take a shower now. 
sunrise, oh sunrise.  maybe i am in a world of my own.  Dale lays there, plays video games.  i sit here naked and wet i na towel, he doesn't notice.
doesn't look at me much.  is this a good or bad thing?

9. conclusionary story.

-they just picked up and drove down the road.  a bag of cheap red apples and a change of clothes.  they didn't knwo where they were going, it didn't matter.  the sun was shining, they passed around a bottle of wine.  she wondered if she could have stayed home, let herself become romanced by the boy next door.  with one look towards the open road , she accepted her choice.  let it go.  they left the tiny town and waved goodbye.  they shouted towards the city whose name i cannot write.  the boy in back left rolled up his sleeve to get his tourniquet tied.  in one big moment he felt relief.  he escaped the torture of the streets.  they hoped, when they got there, to be free.  the hollow eyes of exhaustion scared the other three.  they figured they'd help him find release.  but talk is cheap and regrets can run deep, and lies can scar deeper than all the seven seas.  the girl on his left cast the concern and disappointment off her face and put her head between his legs.  he moans but shows no appreciation.  she doesn't know quite why, perhaps it's just the phase that's passing by.  but she'll give away everything for someone to call her own.  and he;'ll let her take him home.-