Look At Those Beautiful Eyes

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Woke up dope sick with a cut wrist

Lil’ bad bitch sayin’ here’s a plot twist

“When you cut it you weren’t even a lil piss

Just a grin on your face, sayin’ watch this”

Now I’m sittin’ back thinkin’ how sick am I?

But that went away the moment I got high

I’m sayin: “now what it do, who are you?

Get the fuck out my living room

Get the fuck out my mental too”

What, bitch? You can’t hear when I talk to you?

Now I’m back to square one with my hand on the gun

Mama screaming: “son, don’t do it

I love you, don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do..”

I can’t help this feeling

Don’t you see that I need all these prescriptions

This ain’t no livin’

Fuck the punk ass police and snitches. We all need to stick together and watch out for each other.

Undercover Cops/Warning for Drug Blogs 6/13/17

Hey everyone sorry for not posting on here for the last week, I’ve been laying low after a frightening incident that happened to me regarding undercover police and someone I met here off Tumblr. Yes, police are targeting people (drug users primarily) on here by making blogs that have nothing on them (no reblogs, no personal content, not following any other blogs but Tumblr Staff and YOU) and messaging drug addicts in private telling them that if we help them score they will give us money/let us keep like half the amount of stuff they’re asking for, etc.

I was debating on whether or not I should post this since the person this is about doesn’t know I know they’re a cop/working for cops, but I want to keep everyone on here safe from this kind of stuff happening to them, so I might as well share my experience.

Basically a blog on here that had nothing posted on their blog and that wasn’t following anyone except for me and Tumblr Staff (two key sketchy signs right there) messaged me asking for help getting H saying that they had just moved from out of state and needed help with a new connect and offered me close to $100 each time for helping them. It seemed sketchy but I desperately needed the money, so I decided to help.

I met with them twice before the third time, being extremely cautious the first two times (watching my surroundings, asking important questions, sending someone else to bring the stuff back to them instead of me, etc.). Then on the third time they asked for a much larger amount than they had asked for the first two times (which is something cops trying to do an undercover buy do, they buy a couple of decent sized amounts and then on buy number three they buy a large amount and try to pop you with it when you return back to them with it.)

On buy three I carefully watched my surroundings. I noticed undercover cop cars around keeping an eye on me, after I walked off I had a bad feeling.

I got a confirmation that my sketched out feelings were right when while the person was waiting on me to come back with dope my friend that knew what I was doing gave me a call and told me that they were over in the area that that person I’m helping is in and that there’s over 5 cop cars and a drug task force vehicle waiting on me to come back so they could bust me. There was also unmarked vehicles with cops looking out the window with binoculars driving up and down the streets looking for where I went. I’m not going to say what happened after this in case the person I wrote this about finds it. I did the smart thing and decided to be safe instead of sorry.

Everyone on Nodsquad, Tweaker Nation, and everything in between, BE CAREFUL WHEN IT COMES TO MEETING PEOPLE ONLINE AND HELPING THEM GET VARIOUS SUBSTANCES! IT CAN AND POSSIBLY COULD COME BACK TO BITE YOU.

I’ve met probably close to 20 people off of Tumblr, some just to hang out, some for whatever else, and none of them were sketchy people until this last incident.

DON’T HELP BLOGS THAT ARE NEW AND DON’T HAVE ANY CONTENT ON THEM! (aka no reblogs, no personal content, only following you and Tumblr staff or a very unusually small handful of people.)

DON’T GIVE OUT YOUR REAL NAME, REAL PHONE NUMBER, OR ANY OTHER PERSONAL INFORMATION ABOUT YOURSELF TO THESE PEOPLE OR ANYONE ONLINE YOU DON’T REALLY KNOW.

If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.

If anyone has anymore questions about avoiding these types of situations, about signs and tips on how to spot an undercover cop, or anything else feel free to message me privately. The area I’m in recently hired 110 more undercovers to do drug busts right now, I’m sure Seattle isn’t the only place with this sort of thing going on right now.

PLEASE, PLEASE BE SAFE EVERYONE. A get well, a high, or a chunk of cash isn’t worth a felony and your freedom.

Please reblog this message so everyone in the drug community on here can see this and be made aware. Tumblr isn’t always a “safe place” like we would like to think it is.

Unf…

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An open letter to Heroin from a funeral director

Fuck Heroin.  FUCK.  IT.

That’s what I want to say when I get a phone call from a crying son, daughter, husband, wife, girlfriend, or boyfriend telling me their loved one has died from an overdose.  But I don’t say that.  I don’t say it because it’s impolite and I’m supposed to be the even minded professional to your grief clouded bereavement.

But, “I’m sorry for your loss” and “my deepest condolences” just don’t work when a 19-year-old daughter was found in the basement of her friend’s house after two stints in rehab and five months clean.  This was supposed to be the beginning of her life, not the horrible end.

Or, what do I say to the sixteen-year-old son who wants me to call him as soon as I get his mom to the funeral home because “that will be the first time in my life that I’ll know exactly where she’s at”.

Or, what do I say to the 30-year-old wife with three kids and no income, little support and now she has no husband.

Fuck it.  FUCK HEROIN.  That’s what I want to say.

How about the parents who tell me, “I’m glad it’s over.  I haven’t slept in years, but last night I actually slept because I knew he wasn’t out hurting himself or someone else.”

Or the parents who tell me with blank expressions that they had absolutely no idea their daughter was using.  That she was excelling in college, holding a steady relationship with her boyfriend, working part-time and now she’s on our morgue table.

What do I say to the young husband who tells me, “We don’t have any money for a funeral, she blew our savings and her life on this relapse.”

How do I respond when that very same young husband follows it up with, “how do I explain this to my kids?”

And then there are the times when the body has been left somewhere, abandoned by so called friends, and it’s starting to decompose.  “Can I just see my dad one more time?” the young man asks.  “Yes, you can,” I say, “but this doesn’t look like the man you expect to see.”  The son replies, “That’s fine.  I haven’t seen him in five years so I don’t have any expectations.”

FUCK HEROIN.  I’m getting tired of these stories.  I’m tired of unstitching and embalming autopsied bodies that are discolored and broken down by addiction.  I’m tired of hearing the empty cries of “My, baby, my baby!  How did this happen?”  How did we get here?” when the mother sees her son in a casket.  I’m tired of children asking, “what happened to mommy?” and “when will she wake up?” at funerals.

I’m getting tired of these stories.  I know addiction is a disease.  I understand that shame is never the path to healing.  There’s no shame here towards the addict.  The enemy is very clear.  We can all agree that this particular disease, this particular addiction is worthy of our most harsh, most striking, most caustic curse words we can find.

For all the fatherless and motherless children I’ve served …

For all the widows and widowers I’ve walked with through the valley …

For all the bereaved parents now childless …

For all the individual lives you’ve stolen, all the futures you’ve killed, and all the love you’ve grieved …

I raise my middle finger to you, heroin.

Fuck you.