opiate summer

8/13/2019 Opiate Summer

1/23

Op

ia

te

Su Elysemmer Lewis


2/23

Your mouth is a poppyBlood red, stainedThe seeds you spew are decorative

Yet synthesized to make killer drugs.

Elyse Lewis. 2013.


3/23


4/23


5/23


6/23

DEXTROMETHORPHAN TRIPThis isn't the Indian summer. This isn't theindigenous species that's roamed in my heart sincelast winter. The hint of a breeze in my terriblecold sweat, the minute of silence after you'dcalled to tell me Dulciane was dead. This isn'twhat I've been expecting, what I've been waitingfor, but I should've known better. I should'veknown I'll never change therefore things will never

change. I'll never make the first call, the firstmove, the first leap at the round-off. I'll neverbe the nice girl with the pretty hair and a smileto die for. But I'll be the dyke with the bedheadand murder on my lips. And it will be my pleasureand it's what I will offer. No one takes the timeto do it, but if you listen you will hear yourancestors booing you because you're changing theirways. If you listen to me for once when I'm not shyyou might actually hear yourself, or how you werebefore. Maybe it'll come in charades or riddles,maybe you'll see a history of dreams you had. Maybeyou'll hallucinate but more likely you won't feelanything because you're stone like everyone else.All those shivers count as my depression, but Ifeel and I feel everything. It all comes as wavesand they glide up and down my body and I see intothe future and I see inside myself. I amtransparent, little fireflies light my veins and Ican understand the complex relationship betweendrug and brain. Then I snap and I am on my bedroomfloor, as lost and lonely as ever. You never werethere, I never told you these things, I never didchange. This isn't the Indian summer.


7/23

In the tungsten grass, industrial lit apathyI could kiss your cushion stomach and,

So softly, you could purr on your moon cakeWhereas I, dominant and young, conquer your sake

Stick and poke my thigh, tell me my storyQuietly, slow bleed, I'm okay with the painSteer me, under a heavy night, a heavy rainAnd your soaking hair tickles my leg stain

Then in our sweet white republic may we coexistAs bacteria floating on your open wound bliss

Blister cum, tangled legs, and a high white mastWhite skins connect as we obliterate the past

But in that tungsten night the embers jumped to the

leavesSo I decided to leave as well, in my short sleevesI was too cold, too terrified, as dizzy as you

pecked himAnd so I ran, forever in that memory of eating slim


8/23

toutes les familles qui m'ont vu pleur sur la piste cyclable la Saint-Jean-Baptiste... Mangez de la marde. Mangez votrebonheur pis mangez vos enfants. Je suis un gros bb. a faitdeux jours que je porte le mme chandail parce que c'est monchandail prfr pis que je le portais au concert de Morrisseyparce que c'est une camisole des Smiths. Mais l y'a des taches

de sang dessus, j'ai tout gch. Je bois du caf pis je me brlela langue, c'est correct, je veux pas goter ton acidit. C'estmorbide, mais je trouve que me dtruire a me rend plusapptissante. Je sais que toi t'aimes pas a les gros bbs, nonmais c'est drangeant des pleurs. Mais chaque fois qu'on sevoit, aprs j'ai des reflux gastriques. Une fois j'ai failli mepisser dessus, mais j'tais vraiment saoule pis je trouvais pasles chiottes. Avant que tu partes j'avais trouv pertinent de tedire qu'un gars de mon secondaire voulait faire un trip troisavec moi et mon amie lesbienne. T'as ri pis t'es partie en disantque t'tais pas lesbienne, toi. J'aurais d tre dgote, maisj'ai ri. Je suis tanne des filles qui trippent sur Grimes qui secoupent le toupet court pis aprs j'ai l'air de quoi moi avec montoupet court. D'un gros bb. Comme d'hab. Pourquoi a sent comme

toi partout o je vais? Tu sens la shisha ou le fenouil ou larglisse noire. En ce moment je sens les ananas trop mrs et lasueur. J'espre que tu ne m'en veux pas trop pour tre aussichialeuse. Je suis encore un enfant. T'es ma meilleure amie, mmesi c'est pas rciproque. T'es comme ma maman. Pis j'ai uncomplexe d'Oedipe.


9/23


10/23

I.

You're probably sleeping,And I should be too

Jgerbomb mystique shot through my throat

I think you could have seen,Probably in my eyes,

Old tears just hanging 'round

And you probably slept with him,And I guess if I had,

I could understand just how feminine his arms canbe

But I'm lying through my teeth instead,

And I guess you probably are too,Alarms in the back of my head; I'm not okay

II.Plush, cushioney feeling

In the undertones of a barren desertI remember, I remember

Watery aches in hydrated jungles

III.Does love really change anything,

Or even then are you miserable?

IV.I do not wish to be comprehended

But light leaks in, my veins illuminatedThe wait is long, my head buzzes

Greyhounds barking in the midst of our trust

I am truly a shitty person, honestlyThough I try to make it look okay

My gut flashes as you crumble in illusion

The lighting sucked too much; underexposed film

Surprisingly enough I'm not hungry yetAnd I didn't cut yesterday, though I was drunk

I guess I'm not doing so bad after allI guess I'll make it just fine


11/23

I don't want to do anythingI don't want to think about anythingI want to lie down on the groundMay the dirt, the humus, and the snail shellsBury meDecompose me


12/23

diary entry #23

do i look melancholic with my cigarette hair in the windromantic girl like you like them. little lolita umbrellabut a bomber jacket cause i'm a bad girl but only a little.

i'm circled by flowers on my decrepit bench it's like mycasket it's like our last good byes. the girl walking onthe other side of the street is looking at me i think she'sjealous but she has long hair she has nothing to worryabout. i'd like to listen to chad vangaalen his music fitsmy mood but i haven't bought his cd yet actually i'm waytoo poor. ok well i'm moving in two days then i'm off tovermont we'll stay in a cabin we'll drink colt 45 and eatveggie burgers isn't that cool. i can't wait to be in myapartment i'll always drink always smoke always cry. it'smy vulnerability my hope the apples in your cheeks yourhyena eyes your carrion mouth your fennel smell all thatmotivates me and destroys me. i wouldn't want to be theperson who listens to me whine like you did one time when ilost it in your basement. i tried to learn a smiths song onthe piano i wanted to impress you but i can't play thepiano so that didn't work out too well. oh well... mycigarette's over. i've had my little buzz not a big onejust a real tiny one i feel so much better. now i need totake a piss. bye.


13/23


14/23


15/23

Sweet Leaf (Seasons)One day in October things

were nice:Soft light, flesh trees,rosy cheeks.

I was a little girl andwith me, my faithful knightAll armor, black skin, adark chamber for a heart

Two vertical eyes,transparent, windows to the

heartWith him we stole many a

soulAnd we captured lonely grey

moors

In Burlington the mushroomsgrew wild

And the skies were as clearas ever

Morrissey brushed past me;my father laughed

Creepy Halloween nightshollowed in the crush

When I scratched off deadpeels into mush

It was terrible: Yet I wasstill okay

This is the ambiguity inhiding a secret

Winter was Hell: It frozeits very fires

Bitten wound bled again: Itwas so, so terrible

So much that my blank eyessaw no end

I have never wanted to losetouch

But I can't even rememberthe detailsOnly deep black and pure

white

Therefore nothing can be

said

One day in April a flowerblossomed:

Wine colored, it dripped ofmoss

Soft green stench leakedout like pus

Do you even know how longit's been?

I'm back from the ascensioninto moth lands

Primary needs covered, Imay face my scars

I may face my friends withmy gay self

I may face my past with mydamned self

And the sweet leaf hasflowered again

The recovery healingprocess drains most of my

energy;But it's okay -- Now youdon't need to sing me to

sleepI can sing for myselfMy sore limbs will soontear themselves from this

shellAnd dance, and I will see

youAnd I will see you withyour lover and I will be

okayAnd even my knight will

open his soul to you


16/23

Everyone is successfulWhat is my success?

Is it made out of moneyOr is it made out of love?

Either way I'm outI think my success

Is made out of drugs


17/23

diary entry #65

i never said you could. i never said i could either. whenyour face is like... like gummo... i know that's not hisname but i don't know what his name is... the little boy ingummo... well anyway your face is like his. we're notallowed to make gummo faces and spit on each other. andthen forget about it and call ourselves two weeks later asif we hadn't cried our hearts out in our old soaked beds.well anyway, that's how i react. but i'm never the first tocall. but i'm all excited when my phone starts buzzing,your little square face lit up in the screen, and i starttelling you all that's been through my mind while weweren't speaking. if i was a guy i'd make art with my spermwhile cumming. i wrote a rap song the other day i rhymed j-lo with jello. i masturbate on the family computer while myparents are upstairs, the danger turns me on. you listenand you tell me i'm really stupid but you're laughing andi'm laughing and anyway i agree with you. hey, i finallysaw gummo. hey, i might go to senegal for two months and ahalf next summer. i might not even like photography atconcordia. i already don't like my philosophy minor. idon't like myself cause i'm white and i don't know how toreact to racism all around me, and i don't like being withpeople because they all end up makingracist/homophobic/transphobic/sexist commentary and when iconfront them they tell me to piss off and it depresses me.

but i can't stop listening to kanye west's first and lastalbums and they're so beautiful. my apartment is full ofgood food, and financially i'm doing pretty good. i have tobuild my cocoon for winter, for when i'll be tired becauseof work and emotions. i'll have you over, we'll play whistand drink gin, it smells like christmas trees. ah, theholidays. ah, autumn. i spend my time waiting for the nextseason.


18/23

The bleed looks niceOn your lips, on my tongueAll those years I cutHave turned my body to shitHidden in shame, my thighsglowUnder the mask of yearsMy white body knowsIt's leakingStill alive(For some reason)Still highStill hungStill.The night looks nice

In your graveyard roomI wish we could've sleptAnd told each other oursecretsRemember when I pass

I will explodeInto all your fearsI hope you're scaredI sure am.My tub is readyBut I am notI wish we had more timeI wish I had your portraitDepression is funnyLove is sadAnd I am all those thingsThat you never hadI am the codeine in yourmouthI'll be the bullet in your

brainI'll be your talent andyour painBut I am nothing.


19/23

Pinhole Pupils

I've always hated you. You have eyes like oxycodone. Youare blue with a cold ragged lip that sags as you wish mehappy birthday. Your lungs are probably putrid inside. Mineare. My body is an ashtray. I hope they write a fake SylviaPlath quote on my casket. It'll say something about mysadness and your head in my oven. And it'll smell likebanana bread, my favorite. It's ironic how life exudes fromdeath. Gases, fumes; and the maggots and bacteria are fedand the soil replenishes itself. It's not so bad after all.If I hate you why do I feed off you? Put your breasts away.

Your milk makes me sick. I puked in the parking lot of myjob before going in to work. Then I took the bus home andpuked again watching baby stories on TLC. I've been a mess.I've been roaming around like a drug addict with too muchmoney. Feeling like a star, feeling like death. Your poweris poison.


20/23


21/23

Dear dreams: You have killed mePilgrimages to yeastlands turned towastelandsMy calves ache, every tendrilscreams:"I want to sleep, I want to sleep,I want to sleep!"

Agitation-wise I am on a glassbeachShards in my feet; but it doesn't

hurt enoughTo kneel down in mercy to TheAlmighty LordSo I flutter; I shake in wait

Sweet cum drips down my thighsI breathe! I am alive again!I wish it took more an intellectual

activityTo rack me up and disturb mythought process

I have made myself beautifultonightI know I'll only see you in my

night terrorsThough, I still make the effortevery timeI'm sorry I'm such a loser


22/23

256 tats de crainte viennentsaffaisser sur mes pieds nus.

Dans le sable, jaurai un

hmatome demain.Mais je viens de comprendreles nuances interstitielles

dune dure de vie:Leuphorie est synthtique.

Jai encore une migraine; je

ne suis quengourdie.Jai encore un scalpel qui mescie la colonne vertbrale;je ne suis quanesthsie.Ta bouche est un pavot qui

murmure mes synapses :Taurais d te coucher plus

tt,taurais d lui sourire

place de lignorer,taurais d retourner cheztoi place de dormir entre

eux,

taurais dJe suis juste une criss de

conne.


23/23

A general state of numbness. A quest foreuphoria. Itchy body, dizzy thoughts. I ambut a walking disorder. Cold water double

dose; ease the smart, soothe the singe. I ambut a bruised battlefield.

opiate summer

Documents