Tzvi's Trees: Stories About Weed




#10 Chronically Insane with Pain

by Tzvi Peckar the Third, 2015


The door would have broken his knuckles. He wouldn’t want to do that. He needed a shock to the nerves, a cut, just enough to replace the pain. Instead he would punch the drywall. Slide his knuckles across the dent he had been making over time. That would cut up the skin. That would do it man, that would take his mind off it for a minute or two, all the Chronic Pain. Then he’d write his wife a letter, a poem, fill out a job app, or pay a bill. He could hold the pencil again. He could write something ‘till he grimaced. Now he’s stoned and he didn’t punch the wall.


I got all sorts of pain man.

I got it in my soles.

I got it in my head,

I got it in my elbows.


I got woman leaving home blues,

I got money troubles too.

I got nothing so good,

Not even a clue.


There are burning muscles in my arm,

My head rocks with sorrows,

The shoulders, they don’t work,

I want to kick away tomorrow.


There’s nothing I don’t want to do,

Nothing I can’t think.

When the pain’s bursting,

I throw down and sink.


The liquor hits the spot,

Then I fall down and cry.

The whisky burns my throat,

So I puke like I’m gonna die.


Beer doesn’t make it better,

Sweet drinks are a fucking lie.

Sour spritzers mess with your head,

And wrinkle your pride.


Took pain pills for the migraines,

Popped Valium all day.

At first I felt funny,

Then a train wreck in May.


Never could wait tables,

Folded clothes in retail.

My legs would all buckle,

Then my hands would fail.


Telemarketing the phones,

But the hips couldn’t sit.

And you know what that means?

Yup, I had to quit.


Moved to the first floor,

Instead of the sixth.

Still carry groceries,

Some things you can’t fix.


I wept in the showers,

To fend off the stress.

Spent months watching TV,

Oh fuck, what a mess.


Starts to burn from relaxing,

So I walked seven miles.

Get home, and just slept,

Cause awake I can’t smile.


When I open my eyes,

There’s a stir in my bones.

The flesh all around them,

Contracting, hardened stones.


Lost sight of life,

Can’t find the rhythms.

Tried to rewrite a war,

Everything equals spasms.


Now I smoke and toke as much pain away.

I take dabs right off my finger and that’s okay.

I roll doobies filled with gold, I eat brownies by the dozen.

Coat my soul with dope—This is not up for discussion.


I’ve become a career pothead to calm the stain,

The corruption and obsession of my ungodly pain.

See the weed lifts the lows,

The Cannabis plant it just friggin’ knows.


If you think that’s bad,

Well fella,

You’ve never gotten this close to going pure mad.


The Doctors tried the pills,

They even tried some tests.

The weed fills my brain,

‘Cause Cannabis’ the best.


A new breath to breathe,

THC cleans my state.

You can zone nonchalant,

Keep at bay all the hate.


You feel calmer, sort of centered,

Though the world thinks you’re lazy.

You just count your blessings ‘cause,

You saved yourself from going crazy.


He sets the pencil down. Things don’t have to be as bad as they seem, once they don’t seem so bad. That’s the point of view he has as his nerves sting less, his mind can be distracted with clear thought, and inspiration. Things seem brighter. He takes another sip from his vape and another. Two clears the air, two makes everything more dear. He closes his sketchbook, and takes a walk for an ice-cream, listening to music along the way, calmed.



Tzvi’s Trees: Stories About Weed - are original short stories inspired by the culture, people, music, scene, and existence of marijuana in the lives of Human kind. Much like all of Peckar’s writing, Tzvi’s Trees teeter on a fine balance between Absolute Fiction and Personal Memoir, and yet Mr. Peckar himself will admit that to him they are one of the same and cannot exist without each other.