Hallucinogen Hell *for Jim Carroll*

Hallucinogen Hell for Jim Carroll
By Jimmy Crowley
Sitting in this hell hole my father calls a home,
My mother yells at my room for being a mess.
An eye pokes through my closet,
“Hello. Are you in there?”
I can’t see a reason why I answered.
Carroll OD’d in the corner.
Shakespeare is still alive in the walls.
His needle pierces us in my vein.
I walk to my basement.
It looks like St. Patrick’s Cathedral,
In New York City,
But it smells like a Hollister
Stained with feces.
It is so Beautiful.