Scott Wozniak- Two Poems

- Self-made Man -

Looking

in the mirror

I see

false signs

of manhood

self-made

while dad lay

rotting.

Add 'em up-

one bullet hole,

three stab wounds,

two callous hands,

one nose

broken

multiple times,

plus,

too many

evaporated tears

rising

from two bruised cheeks.

Could he

have saved me

the pain

of learning?

Your guess

is as good

as mine,

and I

'ain't exactly

the poster boy

for smarts.

- Numb -

When my first friend

to overdose on heroin

died

I threw a fit,

stole booze

from Safeway,

and threw a brick

through the store's window,

then got shit-faced

alone

in an alley,

'cuz that's how he

died.

When my second friend

to overdosed on heroin

died

I sat surrounded

by friends

pounding

Old Style bottles,

breaking every empty

over my head,

to convey

the pain

I felt.

When my third friend

to overdose on heroin

died

I too

was strung out

and figured

the most poetic statement

I could make

was to celebrate

his life

by shoving a needle

in my arm.

When my fourth friend

to overdose on heroin

died

I did the same

sad junkie

routine

as last time,

never seeing

the irony.

When friends five through ten

overdosed on heroin

and died

I was in prison

and cried

alone in my cell

while thanking God

for placing me

in a casket

with an exit.

When friends eleven through fifteen

overdosed on heroin

and died

I shrugged it off,

saying,

" That's what happens

to us junkies,"

rolled my sleeve up,

and got high,

again.

When friends sixteen through twenty

overdosed on heroin

and died

I felt nothing, but

took it as a sign

it was time

to get clean, so

I check myself in.

To date, I have

well over

two dozen friends

who overdosed on heroin

and are dead.

Hell,

last year alone,

like clockwork,

every two months

another friend

overdosed on heroin

and died.

I stood numb,

tearless,

thinking to myself,

" They finally got

what they wanted,"

then wondered,

" What the fuck

made me

stop wanting

to die

and start

living?"

That, to me,

is more mysterious

than death

could ever be.

Scott Wozniak is a poet, short story writer, and chaos enthusiast who's work has most recently appeared in The Five-Two's Poems on Crime Anthology, Lummox 3, and in The Trippin' Spriggin' an Anthology of Psychedelic Poetics. He says, "Thanks!" to those of you who made it through that last long bastard of a poem.