I Accidentally Wrote This for You, Elizabeth Wurtzel
by Cody Peters
Let me tell you about right now.
I am probably going to die, as my blood is full of Ritalin, Vicodin, Testosterone
Should I do a beer? If you say “yes” then that means you want me to die!
People should think a little bit about certain things.
The way I see it right now, they feel when should think
and think when they should feel.
Right now is a 2:34 AM nightmare and sleep is not even close to maybe
So the iron horse has tempted death the day after Michael Jackson died.
I can’t be without drugs and the shift from the real.
They can’t be with me without drugs and the shift from the real,
I am a monster and I have so much pain.
I just couldn’t think of trying to conquer any more.
Am I wrong to realize when I am beaten?
I am so sick, the heart in my chest is no longer my own.
Why it keeps beating is a God secret I hope he never learns.
Or payback will be a baddie. God is a little flighty, but stern.
Right now I am afraid to sleep. I fear the loneliness of the pillow.
This life has been so to burn the life away. My dreams are dead and I am alive.
My heroes had it the other way around. I am an extraordinary spirit in a mundane life.
Stuck without the will to weather any pain. So no suicide!
My mind is not going to stop. I am not in control.
I only know how to dodge, not endure (any more)
I am so battered from my life that the sadness is too overwhelming.
I wish I fell in love. I did, but each time it was ripped as a piece of my heart.
Perhaps it tempered it so it can endure my need for anything to shift my real.
I know I will not heal. I love and believe, but I just got a bad hand.
I play this game with the best cards in my hand that do not connect to make me a winner.
I look great losing though, I am Elizabeth Wurtzel without the Ivy.
I am Layne Staley without the magic.
I am Michael Jackson when it comes to being slain by the world you wish would love you.
Mostly, after reading all of the books on Amazon about drug addiction and depression
I realized that no one really understands me. Awwww. These days, nobody cares.
I wait for an email, a call, a visit, a drug, a change in my brain that will stop the heavy
That keeps me driven to escape so far and endanger my self.
For all who don’t have their own times, you have it all wrong.
Drugs don’t make a junkhead high, they are like this:
Our Elite Race of stoners, junkies, and freaks live in a constant rainstorm
We look at the boring normal people and see that they all have umbrellas
We were never given one, so we are getting cold, shivering, and soaked.
Drugs are our umbrella. So we can be more like you.
Sure it’s like the five-dollar one you buy on the street, but most of the rain is blocked.
That is, until the umbrella starts to fade like Cinderella.
Then the cold comes again and we get sick.
We go seeking another umbrella, ironically for our own health.
Then this hunt consumes. We are a closed cycle of umbrella patrons.
Well, since umbrellas equal drugs in this ditty, we are the famed “drug-seekers”
It’s really just a rain thing, don’t sweat it.
But I can suffer deep pain from somewhere. A broken life perhaps?
Or I can finally give up at 30 and try to avoid the hurt.
Right now I’m coated in chemicals and in love with the idea of dating Elizabeth Wurtzel
She would love me. She’ll never see me because of her status. Bad for us.
We would take it by the core and she’d foil my baddies so we could start better trouble.
Elizabeth, you were me and I will be you. If this is true then I would call a big fan like me
Don’t you want to at least write to me and tell me some good books to read?
Or NYC hangouts? Share stories of your societe, miss cocktail party.
I’ll give you back some years and you boost me a few. We’re of a mind that is mystery.
I am amazed by my stanza to EW. I’ll send her this. If she doesn’t respond
Then I know she’s not nearly like me at all.
Aren’t you at least curious?
Right now I am looking for what I need.
I always do and am fooled or am lost.
How low do you go before impact?
I must be so damn close
Here comes a crash.
Do you think it will hurt?
Slipping into eternity with a Ritalin pupil dilated so
I don’t miss a thing.