Untitled
I got into junk when I was angry.
Physically, I was rotting on my skeleton
bad people.
I was in psychotherapy after four years
Another doctor could smell it.
They didn’t know
I didn’t tell them I had a heroin addiction
that I was dying
this I didn’t realise or know or see.
Stella was very angry.
I was there to straighten up.
I was even pretending to carnivorous kisses.
I knew that I was going to get raped again.
Somewhere in town, my cool friends.
Then Debbie Noble took her own life
after all, I liked Debbie.
I completely walked out on the wrong, boring drugs
left Auckland without a cent for the road
I used to smash telephone booths before I left
being a hippy is not as nice as it looks
crowded flats from here to there
the people are very hard
so I kept quiet about smoking heroin
though I thought death was not looking at me
the strange acts of others
I’d learned not to care or talk years ago
eccentrics, prostitutes, criminals, anybody, teenagers,
until I left one day, a bird flying away
friends and psychiatric patients
a catastrophe
the beautiful cold lakes
repairing art nouveau pewter candlesticks
for my mum and dad.
~ Andrew Blythe
8 July 2011
