Poem: God and Heroin

I have been thinking about something that scared the shit out of me. It comes from an anti-christian criticism that ridicules all faith saying that those who have faith are looking for a crutch. I usually ignore such comments. For starters, placing your trust in science or philosophy or Yoga could all merit a similar critique. But mainly I ignore such statements because I think of Jesus. He had his legs cut out from underneath him. I mean, they killed him, no crutch, no legs at all, just dead. Then miracle! God lives. Whole new set of legs, body. That is what God does for us. So I never worry. I can get a new leg. I will take that crutch.

But i digress. I was thinking about myself, begging for more of God like a drug addict. In times of severe need for God’s mercy or love I feel like I am calling out for one more high to make it through the day. I’m not sure I believe that is right. But i also don’t think it is wrong. God is not a drug. Anyway, this is the poem I came up with. Enjoy


God and Heroin

By Paul Tomes


I am crumpled on the carpet of a bathroom,

Face kissing shag fiber footprints,

Body basement’ed to the floor,

A rubber hand knot’s my arm.

My hot veins branching for some serpent

To belly between—needle

Poison into sap that teardrops

From the surface waxy life.

Constriction chokes the branches blue-green,

Beating thoughts and blood to the brain

Of Hypodermic teeth biting and dripping

A Holy Serum into veins where

Clear so called cures can slither through

Smooth muscle tissue and

Scale towards thumping heart surges

To soothe, and soothe, and soothe.

A snake slips unnoticed amidst the pain.

Sweaty’ed on the ground

Anesthetized words I pray

God—I need a hero to save me.

To will my blood to change.

I need a heroine—

Or heroin. More God. Or more heroin.

Or one intravenous exchange for ecstasy.

The price I pay for addiction—

Dependence and demand for

One more ethereal high,

To be heaven’ed in birth, still

Craving more to satisfy hands

Quiver’ing for metallic’y morphines

Silver lining that glitters our eye.

The hypnotizing terror of a needle

Spearing a soft dimple into skin.

I crave more of God, My hero,

And Heroin, my peace of mind.

The paralyzing squeeze

Of God finger-nailing my veins,

The flood flashing through me,

Dizzy’ing blood rushing as mud and sin and love

Empty from inside of me.

I stand.

Quick from my knees of confession.

I fall—

Again, still dripping forgiveness bled over me.

I unknot my fingers praying

And the latex strangling my arm.


I welcome your thoughts!


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