Tag Archives: drugs

DEMETRIA by Jeffrey Littrell


I’m an expendable product of the Prozac Nation

fighting depression through self-medication

you might look at me with utter disdain

but you’ve not walked my path, you can’t feel my pain


she is a beauty of Greek descent

with dark eyes that are heaven sent

she walks into rooms with a sexy swagger

and a come-hither stare that cuts like a dagger


I can’t alter the past and not sure I’d want to

she is long gone and my friends left are few

alone in a storm, tears masked by the rain

southbound to Hell on this runaway train



DEAD ON THE VINE by Jeffrey Littrell


I’m running through fire

I can’t catch my breath

is living without love any better than death ?


It’s hard to keep going

when you feel destined to fall

I just can’t get my head wrapped around it at all


under the radar

far off the grid

there’s warrants in Kentucky for the things that I did


4:00 a.m. in Nazareth

my sheets soaked with sweat

I’m losing my grip, but I’ve not let go yet


Crown Royal on the nightstand

right next to my pills

it’s neon and glitter and roadside cheap thrills


in search of redemption

because I can’t find a beer

don’t know where I’ll find it, but I know it’s not here


my love is a flower

that’s withered and brown

dead on the vine since the day you left town



DAMAGED by Jeffrey Littrell

she can’t even meet their stare
from too many nights of helpless despair
broken, yet expected to please
in filthy rooms, down on her knees

the ends of her sanity frayed
the last of her blind faith betrayed
she’s damaged beyond all repair
lost in the misery, unable to care

she has no sense of direction
with a clouded perspective, it’s one more injection
nodding out on the bathroom floor
a walking ghost, a helpless whore

RAP IT TIGHT by Jeffrey Littrell


I never got respect that I didn’t have to earn

I never met a gangsta that I didn’t wanna burn

I always get the money

I never cut no slack

got knuckles in the glove box

and a Glock tucked in the back


down in East Kentucky where the coal mines are

if you’re down to find some trouble, you won’t have to look far

there’s pill mills, meth labs, and trailer park trash

dive bars and storage units full of dirty cash

better take a Ruger and a thirty-ought-six

some dealers are jumpy and full of cute tricks

never go down past the tracks late at night

and never bring a shank to a gunfight


always look at the money at the bottom of the stack

keep it real, do the deal, and never look back

they damn well better fear you or you won’t last long

so keep your swagger up and your hustle strong

bring it, feel it, do it up right

hustle and flow it and rap it tight

THE COMBAT ZONE ( Boston, Mass. 1990 ) by Jeffrey Littrell

undaunted, he approached me

with an off-putting grin

asking if I’d like to go

and have a drink with him


I told him straight up

all that I was after was a score

but what he had in mind

involved a little something more


I walked off down the street

amid the persistent sirens

going in and out

of different decadent environs


they crept inside the shadows

as black as obsidian

pure evil personified

with eyes vaguely reptilian


a strip club called “The Naked Eye”

provided medication

dancers moved emotionless

in the throes of sweet sedation


with my addiction sated

as the warmth inside me spread

I walked out of The Combat Zone

infused with guilt and dread

%d bloggers like this: