traceyh415

If you send me things, I just might post them :)  https://soundcloud.com/rickymimics

As I was walking down the street, on an ordinary morning, the ordinary turned into something quit different. I was walking down the sidewalk, dodging all inquiries from pan handlers and Jehovah's Witness. The last thing I wanted was to browse and edition of the Watchtower. I was quiet sure I was going to hell anyways. I already felt like I was there. I was bundled up on this chilly San Francisco morning. Everything in my world seemed to be in the right place, at the right time, at the right moment. I was not sick, always a plus. I was not high- I could actually see the world around me. My backpack was full of food, a jacket, and another outfit. I had a place to return that evening. The world was full of possibilities. I would have barely noticed him. I generally ignore his type. He was about my height. His clothes were nice but not flashy. He had a nice baseball cap, slightly pointed off in another direction. His pants were non descript but fit in a way that made a girl say Tha...

"Who the fuck would ever want me?" I lean with my back against the wall. I am feeling keenly sorry for myself today. That happens after I have had a few beers. Alcohol brings out an intensely ugly side of me. I either end up crying or trying to stab my friends once I reach an undetermined threshold. It is almost as if every bad thought I ever had about myself is released within a few drinks. It ferments deep inside my guts and is regurgitated for all to hear. I have no shortage of opinions when I have been drinking, either. For the most part, heroin makes me subdued. I become drawn inside myself like an intense ball. I curl up in such a way that I can ignore reality as it passes before me. Alcohol is my second drug of choice and my first addiction. I have been short on cash so now I am on a bender. I feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I push them down with a gulp of my malt liquor. "I just don't understand, man " I utter to my companion. He is half asleep, ...

"I guess you have a few years now" he says. The thin white guy in the black hoodie and grey jeans walks a feet from me. We are both waiting at a cross walk. I am standing underneath the All Star Doughnuts sign. I walked on this side of the street to not interrupt the crack changing hands a few doors down. The Honduran man gave me a nod. He is selling rocks with flip flops on. Not shower shoes from jail but white socks and slip ons. My bag is heavy with syringes, cookers, water, and ties. I am transporting them from place to place.  This guy, I knew this guy. Well, he was on a first name basis with me on a few occasions. A blue eyed girl selling chivah in the Ells is not someone you would miss after you passed her. My mouth overflowing with balloons and disease, cash shoved up in my pussy for the re-up. I was scared standing out there. My habit pushed me to the limit of existence slinging Quarters and Dimes in the open air. I have seen him with that chick who looks all ...

I turned the key to my empty room. The sparse existence is highlighted by the silence. The Tenderloin seems so quiet today. I barely hear the pipes being scraped in the distance. Fall is rapidly approaching. There is a cool breeze that goes through both of my windows. I put the milk on the ledge last night. It stayed just the right temperature for my coffee this morning. I use the hot tap water for my flavored blend. Nothing like clumps of sugar and chunks of instant brew.  I set my keys on the nightstand. My room contains a bed, a broken nightstand with a drawer missing, and a chair I use as a stand for my boom box. I got it of a dope fiend for $20. It literally was a steal. I take off my shoes and flop on my bed. My legs hurt. These abscess scars do not like the heat. The skin seems to pull against the muscle as if to remind me I am just a junkie. I let out a sigh. All the pain of the world is exhaled in this very moment. I need to find some peace.  There is no where I can g...

I wake up with crust in my eyes. They used to say it was "sleep" in your eyes. This is some kind of crust. It is a combination of dirt, sunburn, and dust from living in filthy place. I am sure not ever taking my contacts out does not help either. I reach for my beer. It is warm and tastes like piss. You have to be careful in places like this because you might actually drink some piss. There is no working bathroom in this squat. In most abandoned buildings, you can at least piss in the toilet. Most of them still flush if you pour water in the back. I am sleeping in a cargo elevator way in the back of the building so no one can find me though. There is a bucket outside the door I can slide open to go but I need to get out of here.  I barricaded myself in here with that chick from New York. I wanted to share a sleeping bag and she wanted to share my dope. Her name is Tami or Terry or some shit. I forget. These girls all start to look the same to me. They come out to San Franci...

"Dude, what the fucking fuck are you talking about?!" I yell as I try to lift up his head.  He is mumbling again. I know that mumble. We are sitting outside the playground. There is a gated fence along the perimeter but children never play here. I am slumped against the gate. It is hot out. My cut off Dickies are sticking to my legs with junkie sweat mixed with crusted blood droplets and some left over puss on my sock from when my abscess busted.  I took the gauze off. I have became an expert on my own surgeries. I took the area and stuck in a brand new clean needle to suck out the puss. It was a small one anyway. It didn't stink. It didn't require a trip to the clinic. But now on a hot fucking day I have to wear socks. I can't let bum piss from the curb splatter on my wound. I like my leg. I want to keep it. In fact, let me get out some alcohol wipes right now and wipe that bad boy down.  "Tracey?! Did I make it to the clinic?!" He mumbles some more.  D...