Ben’s Poem

Wanna beer?
Burning sun licks your salty eyeballs raw,
jaw aches in the harsh sting of – but you’re wrong,
this light’s not even strong, it’s late in the day –
but fuuuuuuuuck it hurts anyway! Drum, drum, drum,
dumb you blink, limbs crawl phantom-like around,
feeling the ground, washed up on some patch of lawn,
torn in the middle and collapsed in a flaccid heap,
one tiny leap from the cracked opening of your tent,
spent, how did you get here? No fucking idea.
Just have a beer.
What a mess. Don’t stress.
You’re more than okay.
Relax, let me lead the way…

Eat something.
Your belly is a hollow cave, no desire for food,
When was the last time you chewed?
That McDonald’s en route, it doesn’t compute,
was forty-eight hours ago, even more,
but eating feels like a chore. You force something down,
down there in the pit of acid sick, to feed the worms,
they squirm and wriggle but devour it fast.
At last you begin to feel like a human again.
Feeling better?
You do feel more alive, potentially
you could thrive, is that possible?
Risen from the dead, after being fed.
See, I told you. Just have another beer.
It’s plain sailing from here…

How about a line Ben?
Your nostrils chalked and blocked,
passageways locked – but that’s okay, just clear your nose,
give it a blow, I’m thinking just the tiniest bump of snow –
A little powder, the one that makes Colombians march,
but your body’s wrecked.
Taste dripping down your throat already,
steady, you don’t feel ready – but it’s nothing heavy,
just a pick-me-up before the party, to get you started.
You don’t really want it but one line can’t hurt,
a little confidence to flirt and keep the anxiety away,
at bay, and it is true what they say, you feel much better.
See, why would I lie?
Do another, remember, people like you when you’re high.

How about a pill Ben?
You feel queasy, ill, would like to chill.
Your gut a restless beast,
already retorting from that miniscule feast,
you need to shit it out. Went straight through like a water slide –
but a pill will stop you chasing lines –
it’s almost time to go,
it’s all a show, you know it is, to see what everyone is on.
Already you feel the creeping nervousness of social interaction,
the awareness to each reaction, the fraction between you and them,
the great divide – but a pill will help that sensitivity subside –
it’s true, that view, it’s too harsh, too real, too much to feel –
Shut up, be glad!
People don’t want to hear you make them sad,
it’s long and nothing will go wrong.
Let’s get this done. I’ll make you fun…

How about some 2C-B? Some MXE? Some acid?
Don’t be placid, let’s get trippy, drop LSD, why wouldn’t you smoke PCP, try DMT?
Don’t be a pussy, just pop it in and see!
It’s a fucking festival, you’re meant to get all wavy –
Save me – please, we’re just getting started –
You just farted, there’s so much gas inside you, toxic, trying to escape –
but you’re having fun, right Ben? Just say when, the edge is off up here
… or is it?
Time for another line then. Come on, keep up and do another –
Line after line, as long as you keep time, everything is fine.
Who are you seeing? Who cares about the music.
You’re numb and that’s the main thing.
See, this is the best way to be, a walking pharmacy!
Drugs till you drop, don’t ever stop…!

Ben…? Where did you go?

You checked out and left your brain,
went probably clinically insane.
Blackness, memory loss, dry throat,
eyes sting, can’t feel a thing in your right leg, what happened?
Feel the grass, you can see the tent, neck bent,
you never quite seem to make it… Just over there,
a helpless stare, as the early evening light seeps in,
can’t remember a fucking thing, where were you?
Shake your head to wake it and gently, slowly one thing appears,
smothering those crippling fears in a blanket,
of a caring mother’s, patchwork soft. It’s all you can hear,
that sweet soothing voice up inside your ear;
Afternoon sleepy head…Wanna beer?