Hammered

It really seems like such a waste,
Causing myself to live this way,
Compulsively, I roam at night,
Then fade away and escape from the day,
I can't remember when it grew this strange,
The continuing obsession that I have,
All this searching leaving me deranged,
Still being consumed each day by pain, I am,
Don't believe I see an end to it coming soon,
Taking a will of it's own , I can't stop my hand,
I draw the hammer back and plunge into my shell, the venom,
I know I can't continue this descent into ruin,
Then I loose myself and start the pattern all over again,
I set the stage up for my one man show, so quick,
I'm left alone in the coldness of my own thoughts again,
Does witnessing such weakness make you sick?

© October 5, 1995 Rod Arbogast





The Price I Pay

Alone, the price I pay which seems so steep,
It all matters, yet, all is so harsh in it's descent,
It all just continues to go on unchanging,
And festers into a sore who's pain doesn't relent,
Alone, the penance for my cruelty to those who tried,
To love me all along as I destroyed myself,
The cycle still rolls along, unending, it's pain,
Forming a vast nothingness inside the hallow halls where I dwell,
Everything is nothing when you can't control yourself,
When you have a will, but no choice to repeat the cruelty,
Your decision is made before you can even think about it,
Automatically you reach for the fire knowing it's heat is certainty,
Over and over again you burn yourself, a ritual of despair,
Nailed to a wall by your indecision and addiction,
Starving for just a hand to guide you out of hell,
You're just another slave to this affliction,
Out of friends, out of ends, out of money, out of mind,
Your explanation is nonexistent and weaker each day,
The sickness you have accepted to inhabit your life,
Only brings you closer each day to a grave,
Sustenance is a hole in your arm, and a sting,
You wish it would just all be done soon for you,
If those who love you could only see,
The hell you live through.

© October 14, 1995 Rod Arbogast






Overtaken

It's six am in the morning,
I feel like I've abused myself again,
I know I've got to stop this insanity,
Before the walls start closing in,
I think I have been here before,
Many times, on many days,
Up so high I can't be reached,
Then down so low and feel so gray,
Physically and mentally exhausted,
I know I've pushed it to the maximum,
Then do another shot of poison,
Just to try and get back from,
That bottomless pit of torment,
That I experience each time,
I let myself be overtaken,
By this hazardous, forbidding state of mind,
Very quickly my dreams are smashed,
The future drifts so far away,
All those plans that I'd been making,
Somehow got lost along the way.

© August 8, 1994 Rod Arbogast






Grayest of Days

Ending of days,
Returning of grays,
No matter what the sign says,
You wont get any more or less,
Step out of my dreams,
Hear my own screams,
Life is never what it seems,
A movie without a theme,
Nobody can quite comprehend,
How real love can mend,
People try and pretend,
That they're my friends,
Taking my time and energy,
Sucking all the life from me,
Endless vacuum of humility,
A cold winter wind freezing me,
Where will I be tomorrow?
Black clouds and no rainbows,
When it will all end God only knows,
Probably all alone on the street,
Cold and frozen bones from no heat,
Ending my days death my safe retreat,
No more tomorrow it comes to complete,
Viscous cycle of self abuse,
Living even seems to have no use,
Life becomes a pile of refuse,
Endless torment,
Non stop and bent,
No relief sent,
Black commitment.

© October 3, 1992 Rod Arbogast






In Me

You don't realize how much pain I experience,
When I'm left to my idle thoughts each waking hour,
I thought I was doing really well for awhile,
Now my loneliness is gaining momentum and power,
I am falling and rolling downhill,
It's eminent that I fall apart, I can't explain,
I feel like I have nothing to believe in today,
The forecast says to expect more rain,
Out in the world all I can see is people hurting,
I walk out there and someone wants to use me for awhile,
I have no one to talk with and it hurts me,
I wonder how long it will take to regain my smile,
Can't I have something, someone, somewhere for sanctuary,
I'm lost inside the shadows, I've split apart, separated,
The day just has no place for me within it's minutes,
If I could buy my ticket right now, I would, long enough I've waited,
A child growing to a man, on a prayer and suppression of my emotions,
Not having the chance to experience, love, family or devotion,
Spending his time alone in his room, creating a personality of isolation,
Self destructiveness was somehow inbred at my creation,
It could be worse, I'm dwelling in my mind too long,
I've let all these negative thoughts become too strong,
I'm at least trying to better myself that can't be wrong,
I have to look at what I've accomplished just surviving this state for this long,
I can do it still, I am just alone right now,
I make me get so ill, to have no friends and wonder how,
I can find the angels, not just the demons everywhere I go,
Please God, I beg of thee, show me what I must do to know,
How to spot the light, from the darkened city streets,
How to do what will enhance my spirit and my awareness of the people I should meet.

© November 5, 1995 Rod Arbogast





So much for…

So much for sobriety,
Going to feel like hell in the daylight,
Trying to gain my composure,
After me, myself and I have been in a fight,
So much for love that's real,
No one knows the exhausted state,
That love leaves you feeling,
After taking all of your energy and leaving you sedate,
So much for peace of mind,
I've got myself lost, once again,
Couldn't hold my grip tight enough,
I was sucked in,So much for sanity,
I think it's left me for good,
Cutting deeper at my outlook,
Sucking me into this neighborhood,
So much for well-being,
I see the deterioration of my dreams,
Call me crazy, call me what you will,
It's taken all my soul, and silenced my screams.

© October 5, 1995 Rod Arbogast





Picture Of A Lonely Man

I'm emotionless,
Most of the time,
I feel only the confusion,
I create within my mind,
I've got a self-destructive tendency,
I feel it only leads to my narcotic dependency,
I've gotten lost again,
It's not the first time this has happened,
Is it all the irrational choices I make?
I think not of what I mistakenly create,
Sometimes I feel so lost,
Because I loose myself when my wires get crossed,
Inflicting damage on my soul,
Rejecting all thoughts of self control,
I slowly have become blind to the mess,
That is created in my distress,
Scattered and strewn at my feet,
I trip over my shattered dreams,
Knowing I am doomed to repeat,
Falling into my shell I retreat,
To dwell again in my dark mind,
The suffocation of my free will,
Picture of a lonely man,
Jumping from a windowsill.

© September 25, 1994 Rod Arbogast






Tweakin

Yet another night I'm awake,
The babbling of my words spoken,
Taken away by the night breeze,
In twilight's day again I'm broken,
A part of me, a moment lost,
A dreamless night, a walking streak,
I have polluted the vessel I inhabit,
That ceases to speak and speak,
Inside my brain I create a string,
Events I cannot believe I can comprehend,
But I plan for each one in turn,
And politely ask you to attend,
Yet when the day of the event is near,
I flake away the hours of the day again,
Not realizing the time at all,
Leaving me nothing to do but make amends,
For my forgetfulness,
My lack of attention,
My complete inconsideration,
It's really not my intention,
But the line gets longer,
And the pile gets smaller,
The clock ticking again it's pace,
The shadows growing taller,
Distorting with each second,
Contorting to form a wound,
I cannot conceal from myself very long,
The torture will break through soon,
At home I set off on another flight,
Veins burning nitroglycerin for fuel,
Disguising my reflection each day,
Again chaos and mayhem rule,
I watch the chaos from my world,
I watch the hands fast and slow,
I see the slight of hand in their moves,
Motives emerge in my euphoric afterglow,
The years rolling by so fast,
Lines on your face growing deeper and wider,
As I battle myself again and alone,
I am to myself a merciless intruder.

© May 31, 1995 Rod Arbogast






Dope Less

Dope less,
Hopeless,
High stress,
Situation,
Not high,
Clear eyes,
No surprise,
The duration,
Waiting the hours,
Passing them in vain,
I'm depressed again,
Slowly going insane,
What's the use?
This hole is too deep,
I can't shovel fast enough,
The incline's too steep,
Is it a grave?
Is it my home?
This existence,
In my dark hole,
I can have hope,
Without dope,
Yes I can have my life,
Without the garbage I crave in it,
My yearning hunger for now is at ease,
Oh God, please help it stay this way please,
I ache but I can take the heartache,
My life and happiness are at stake.

© June 14, 1995 Rod Arbogast
I cannot believe that Dope less was in the Microsoft Word Spell Checker!!






Maybe I should move this one to Aggression?
Mother-fucking Raccoon Bitch

How could I have been such a fool?
I trusted you to do me right,
You took my cash from my hand,
Disappeared into the night,
You fuckin' scuz junkie,
You fuckin' joke of a human being,
Just let me see you on the street,
And you'll be pavement face skiing,
You think you fooled me,
It's a karma fuck on you,
Sooner or later it will arise,
Then, boy, what you gonna do,
I know your face and your name,
I know your voice like my own,
Fuckin' punk you need to learn,
Not to walk in the danger zone,
You are going to face the pain,
Of my wraith upon a day,
I expect payment from you,
Or your fuckin' skull on a tray,
Are you just stupid?
Or just hard up for a fix,
You play the fool for all of us,
Is this how you get your kicks,
Mother-fuckin' raccoon bitch,
I hope you're satisfied with all you've done,
I hope you're found dead in a ditch,
You need to learn how to treat people son,
Your silence tells me you're a deceiver,
Thinking of ways to thieve from me,
You fuckin' think you're getting over,
Just wait bitch we'll just have to see.

© June 7, 1994 Rod Arbogast






Private Hell

Always destructive to myself,
I live to create my private hell.
All alone in my cell of mistrust,
I can't seem to break the chain of disgust,
Hating myself for the way I think,
I can't get my mind off of the stink,
Why do I feel so insane?
Why do I drive those I love away?
Wishing I was dead and buried,
Might have to bring on the end in a hurry,
Hating what I do to myself,
Hate my little private hell,
Fuck the world,
Fuck the people in it too,
Fuck everyone,
'Cuz they fuck me too.

© 1994 -Rod Arbogast






Romancing Hell

Somehow it was easier in days gone by,
Just sitting around getting high,
Space trucking on some astral ride,
Taking blotter, getting fried,
Staying high for days on end,
Partying with all my friends,
Hanging out and getting drunk,
Just another juvenile punk,
Crazy days lead to crazy nights,
With women untamed and fist fights,
Tomorrow seemed so far away,
Such happy characters we portrayed,
Now those days are all long gone,
It seems a struggle to carry on,
Bored out of my skull,
Living by the golden rule,
Feel I need to hit the open road,
Before my head explodes,
Live my life by my own rules,
Not be lead around like a fool,
A little excitement is what I need,
A little fun and games indeed.

© October 1989 Rod Arbogast
(The above was a formula for my relapse.






The Burn

Do you have to doubt my words?
Do you have to be so suspicious?
Do you have to question my honor?
Do you think I'm that malicious?  
Why do you turn on me so quick?
These are questions I'd like to ask,
I'm not out to do you wrong at all,
I have my own face don't need a mask,  
I think it's paranoid delusion this feeling,
When you're questioning every move I make,
Looking for a wolf in sheep's clothing,
Looking for the same people you have known, that are fake,
Don't think of me as an enemy of yours,
It would be better if you just slowed down,
I'm not someone who betrays those who risk on me,
I know what it feels like to be led around, 
Fucked over by someone you put your faith in,
Who you expect to treat you respectfully,
I've been there and back on the same ride,
And know how fucked up it feels, that type of cruelty,  
You only find out after the deal is done,
That you got maybe 50% from the middleman,
He took your hard earned pay,
Lied to your face, and walked, not ran,  
You're left to feel so cheated, alone,
With a bag of shit, a headache or sick,
And the punk makes another buck or two,
And the next fool wants to see the same damn trick,  
So you see I've been there friend,
And I know how fucked up it feels too,
You've got to choose whom to trust very carefully,
But if it happens the only one to blame is you,  
Try not to let it happen again,
Look out for the warning signs,
Listen very carefully to what the person says,
Listen to your instinct, not your fiending mind,  
What's your first impression or thought?
After the deals been planned or discussed,
How much of it did you believe, really?
Did it sound like a deal you could trust?  
The thing to do is leave the shit alone for good,
That way you leave all the hassle behind,
The physical wear and tear you inflict upon yourself,
Not to mention the insanity, dementia and the immanent exhaustion it creates in your mind.  

© August 21, 1994 Rod Arbogast






Ritual Of Despair

My eyes open to witness the filth I exist in,
Search for a cigarette; find a butt in the ashbin,
Again I wake and search for sustenance,
The habitual, compulsive, skeletons nowhere dance,
The trail from my front door to the dealer’s house is well worn,
My feet move of their own accord, my face follows, forlorn,
Sweltering in this thick flannel shirt,
Numbing my soul to hide my hurt,
The long sleeves cover the tracks of shame,
The purple bruises caused by my hand shakes,
The reddened pin holes and the deeply scarred flesh,
The tinge of yellow that reveals my mess,
I’m sweating pounds off as my search continues,
For another place to inject the poison into,
From the dealers on the way back to my shack,
I have to stop 6 times to draw the hammer back,
I know it’s getting out of control,
It’s only 10 blocks from there to my front door,
Toilet water is all I have to use,
Oh well, who cares, I’m just so much human refuse,
Heart palpitations and short of breath again,
The dangers of the hammer plunging into my skin,
Wild eyed stare from deep gray sockets,
A hype, a fiend, with sharps in my pockets,
I got my kit and I know the ritual of despair,
I use to take a bath, look in the mirror and comb my hair,
I use to have somebody that loved me,
I use to eat, sleep at night and be somebody,
Ragged, torn, dirty and thoroughly disgusted,
Just another day in the life of a toy that’s busted.

© March 21, 2000 Rod Arbogast

They are hell in my hands, lust in my veins and guilt in their aftermath - Me 01/18/00



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