I miss the drunk 
I miss the fiend 
I miss the simplicity of addiction 
And the scene 
I miss wandering aimlessly 
in half dead sewers with rats for eyes 
chewing on forgiveness 
and the will to apologize 
I miss the return of no return 
as I burn in avalanche after avalanche 
of white snow and yellow cocaine 
I miss talking to brick walls 
While following the grain 
and human dolls as I plagiarize myself like a dummy 
Stuffed with counterfeit money 
for Cairo and black honey 
I miss illusions begging to be chased 
even as they disappear into me and I disappear into them (erased) 
until there is no one or nothing but the chase 
and a powdery ghost with no face 
(or faith) 
I miss evolving into a cloud 
Of blue marijuana blown from the lips 
of hookers and pimps 
as they smack each other down 
in alleys for the dammed but mighty 
with no one but the weak around 
And I miss waking up in no memory 
As shame is a ballerina dancing on my head 
And guilt is a pugilist battering my guts 
Until they're dead 
Remorse is sawing into my tear ducts 
Tattooed from all the times before 
I miss this and more 
Even though I know it's insane 
And ive walked thru that door 
Even tho life is much better now 
Then when I lived beneath the floor 
I miss numb Neanderthals marching 
in rows of living dead 
from my wisdom teeth to Spain and back again (in my head) 
I miss salvation in syringes and angels of mercy 
in blooms of smoke numbing rain 
which drinks when thirsty 
I miss glasses full of spirits 
Who without tongues speak to me of napoleons wild nights 
I miss staying up for days and becoming a psychic pretzel 
Flying kites 
Chewed on by a Zulu heading with toads to mars 
A mysterious prison 
And one without bars 

I traded this life in for a calmer one sometimes duller all together better one 
But sometimes 
I ain't gonna lie 
Sometimes I miss it 
I miss waking in the arms of strangers 
Like puppies just born in the pound to a dead mother with eyes sealed shut looking for a tit on which to feed
And other dangers 
When only the night before laughter 
was the only pursuit 
even as knives carved up our backs 
And demons sat like Buddhas eating fruit 
Meditating on hate forever in our minds 
I miss exposing even my bones 
And the need that rewinds 
Even my burning home 
Even my gutted inner child 
Even my dead grandfather 
In the ground that's wild 
Even my criminal family 
Even my weedwacker thoughts 
whipping a thin plastic string 
to cut the ears of others 
as I sing 
I miss van Gogh's revenge 
I miss his nightly binge 
I miss spiders surrounding my bed 
And lifting me as if an effigy or a 
Dead 
King or a prophet of doom 
A Jesus for the apocalypse 
Wearing dirt like perfume 
Or a mother for Satan 
Or ghost for all the children of abuse 
And taking me into the fire 
Watching me burn 
Like a goose 
As they sing 
In spider voices 
There goes creation there goes the moon 
There goes the butterfly 
Wanting cocoon 
I miss being a bloom 
And a goon 
a doctor of regret 
Hanging onto guitar strings in tune 
And hanging by a belt 
wrapped around some pipe 
to nowhere and felt 
My lips too wrapped around 
what appears to be stained glass 
as religious figures dress like 
rocks with class burn into gas 
to the center of my brain 
the euphoria of dying and being born all at once 
While wearing the hat that reads 'dunce'