The last time he saw his mother

was fifteen years ago.

The more he got fucked up,

  the less she wanted to see her own baby.

He couldn't bring himself to stop.

He only allowed himself to think about her

  when doing lines of coke in bar bathrooms.

Sometimes the image of her face

would dance around his mind

  when he would sell himself to wealthy politicans

  for forty bucks an hour.

Being a bottom was his fastest way to a high-

some nice rock could last him a week.


The H messed him up the most.

Liquid pleasure with a terrible coming-down.


Fifteen years after it all went bad

and now he's crying on a dirty carpet-

  begging for his mother.


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