I’m wearing Sean’s Tori Amos shirt
which he gave me 16 years ago…
yet it always somehow remains his.
Maybe because he lost his mind
again
last year,
He tossed me to the proverbial curb
as if I were the junkie that he confessed to be,
though who the fuck really knows?
Not that it doesn’t make sense…
It actually explains a lot –
actually connects many dots –
solves so many mysteries
when combined with our own histories
only we’re all addicted to something, aren’t we?
Alcohol, as a drug, betrays you very quickly.
Anne Rice said something to that effect once,
which I’ve always remembered though I can’t find the exact quote.
I can’t tell if I’ve been addicted to food…but if I have,
then it is a drug that has betrayed me all too quickly.
Perhaps this is why he shivers inside me;
not “Long Gone Sean”,
but that child version of Jason Wright
who whispers always beneath my skin
and behind my eyes.
I struggle to feed him
but his pained and palsied
nearly lifeless form
rejects the medicine he both craves and abhors,
never knowing which decisive reaction is truly best
after our fucked up father ripped his world inside out…
Sean’s biological father (“Ted”) was rock solid awesome
while his step-father was less so;
addicted to pain pills, he gave me my first tab of Xanax
after I fucked his son in Sean’s gay, white trash,
St. Helen, Michigan bedroom.
I reached my hand up to cradle his head
to prevent it’s rhythmic bruising crash against the wall
and I felt his confusing reaction as it quivered down
from his brain, down along his spine, back through
his blissfully tight asshole around my hard and horny thrust.
Later he told me no one else he’d been with
would ever consider such a kindness…
his stories were always so wondrously sad.
That 2008 reunion was nearly 10 years ago
and apparently wouldn’t last the decade to come.
I wonder where he’d be today
when this shade of Jason will struggle
to jam a needle in his arm
and feed our craving
without judgment or rejection.
“We all have our junk and my junk is you.”
Junk: What William S. Burroughs was high on
until he woke from “The Sickness”,
when secretive Not-Dr.-Seward
was cavorting with his Mugwumps.
Junk: The so-called yards where I played
to escape the insanity of my own brutal
“Protoplasm Daddy” complex.
Junk: The word is now forever associated
with the 16yo boy at safe sex instructional
who was the first I’d ever heard equate cocks, dicks & pricks
with an addictive substance.
My so-called junk
relieved Sean of his unwanted virginity,
while his Naked Lunch variety
relieved us of our treasured friendship,
filled his veins with human immunodeficiency virus
and bubbled out of him in a hateful madness
which I will never allow to murder my love for him.
Written by Jason Wright
March 22, 2018
