Walking home late and stoned I fall down into a ditch.

He grounds me and says he’ll pray for me, son of a bitch.

How can I put up with all of my parents’ bullshit?

Man, I could use a hit.

Jesse buys us Seagram’s Seven for the English trip.

We swear on the Bible that we have not had a sip.

How do I get through detention and some stupid shrink?

Man, I could use a drink.

“You talk big but you can’t back it up,” she pulls her clothes.

I can’t figure how to get inside her pantyhose.

What can I do so these girls don’t think I’m such a joke?

Man, I could use a toke.

I flash the peace sign to the next car stopped at the light.

They open the door to drag me out and start a fight.

When do I have a chance to show these guys what I’ve got?

Man, I could use a shot.

When we run away to Tampa, he calls on the phone.

I sit and smoke till he gets back, says “I’m going home.”

Why do I come to life only when I’m acting bad?

Man, I could use a tab.

Jesse gets his works, gives me a beer, calls me a punk.

Then he’s in a bathtub of ice held up by those chicks.

How do I make sure I don’t OD using this junk?

Man, I could use a fix.

Lazarus, 2009, acrylic on wood, 4”H