By The Grace

Looking myself in the eye for the last time in a mirror strewn with cocaine, straw deep in my nostril, inhaling sharply, I stopped in mid snort and said ‘you know what, I’m done’. Perhaps it had something to do with my partner in crime saying something about the deplorable conditions in coca leaf processing plants. Like how rats sometimes fall into the vats of coca leaves and the poor motherfuckers who work there don’t give a shit if you snort ground up rats. Quality control in cocaine manufacturing it seems is somewhat lax. I said, ‘you finish it pal, I’m done’. He thanked me profusely and snorted away like there would be no tomorrow.

We walked outside into the ridiculous July humidity of a South Florida midnight. Jittering and babbling, we chain smoked and talked about the future. Plans and dreams, money and fame to be made, taken and ridden doggy style until the globe was awash with our ectoplasm and blood. Magnanimously we anointing the ill illumined huddled masses with our brilliance. Then the buzz started to wear off.

My heart felt like wet tissue being force fed from a fire hose. Capillaries in my brain were like tangled fishing line caught in a propeller. I got in the car and prayed I could make it home so that I could at least die in my bed. I needed Valium and a bottle of wine so fucking bad but I had no more money and barely any gas in the tank. The heavens in my skull were spinning cyclones and my rapid breath became pants pissingly shallow. I chanted repeatedly, why am I here again?, why am I here again?, why am I here again? Stupid, stupid, stupid. When are you going to learn? What is it going to take? 

I made it back to my parent’s house. Went to my room, took off my clothes, turned out the lights, wrapped myself in blankets I though may well become my death shroud and laid upon my bed. I closed my eyes and fell into a collapse between sleep and wake. I became aware of two warring factions of rats within the walls of our house. There had been much hatred and bloodshed. So many rat mommies and babies left without their daddies. So many rat limbs lost in battle. So many left to die in the rafters, cursing their forsaking thankless absent rat god, skeletons littering the spaces between layers of gypsum and timber. So many rat psyches tattered and raped forever as they bore innocent witness to the atrocities of war. It culminated in one universal rat epiphany:

IT”S ALL MAX’S FAULT! KILL HIM!

I broke out of my trance with strangled scream. I smoked more cigarettes and fell into a fitful sleep. Therein I do believe I then met the Devil. Not just my own demons, but the Devil as it appears when it wants to consume each one of us, in a form most personally seductive and beautiful to its object of prey at a given moment. Somehow I found the strength in that moment to not become Satan’s midnight snack and consequent morning shittings.

Somehow, in spite myself and addictive tendencies, I found the truth.

After many years, I wrote this poem about that night. About the lover and friend I lost to that evil drug. It is called ‘By The Grace’

The night

the rats

in the walls told me

it was time

to stop doing cocaine

came just before

the morning the Devil

taunting me in a dream

in which she tried

to seduce and intimidate

but I fired back

with the 23^rd psalm

at 4:15 a.m.

Just before breakfast

the marsh was quiet

and the bible became my friend

on the day

that started too early

but began

almost too late

for my heart

to survive

my companions

failed suicide.

Her arms and her neck

I would cuddle no more

but speak

at a distance

to her ghost

that dwelled

within her skin

torn by ropes

unseen by all

except me.

I said

there but by the grace go I

and there she

goes away from me

with the coming of the dawn

the lie recedes

the dream

blends into day

and the night

thank God

is over.

Until next time,

All my love always,

Max