Dope Fiend Confession Poem by Jaxsun Castro Horn

I met a hypnotic woman in a crimson dress,
and drank the cup anointed by kiss.
Ever since, I wander streets without ease,
with track marked arms - veins diseased.

I posses wretched things, so nothing more.
A burnt spoon and a dull syringe shared before.
Darkness surround my sleepless nights,
my inner demon feeds full my plight.

The park bench I now call home
reek of another’s commode cologne.
Wrapped in rags to conceal my hide;
an emaciated, cored out marrow inside.

A soul void sinner praying to survive,
meals are served in dumpsters I dive.
Searching for lipstick roaches to snatch,
in gutters and ash trays, feigning for smack.

My 9 to 5 hustle corners the alms;
a cardboard sign beggar with feculent palms.
But when my opiate glow dimmers low,
I beg mercy from the matron of death I know.

'Whom can fuel this sobering tale,
with change to fill a rusty tin pail?
Spare me a dollar or two?
So I can slam the crimson temptress’ brew.'

Seduced by her kiss
I confess,
as a Tarot card fool.
'What else is a dope fiend supposed to do? ”