So this is where you are. Rock bottom AF.

I say YOU because you are the one who set my world on fire… while watching all those I love burn. But that didn’t matter, did it? You found your love at the bottom of that see-through iodized plastic pill bottle you now call wife. Oh, and don’t forget about your 750-milliliter mistress who is always game for a late night booty call. The world was burning, but you didn’t give a flyin’ fuck because you had both arms occupied with a dirty secret love affair.

Now those two dominate your every thought, your innermost being. You know the lust and desire have turned into a PERNICIOUS LOVE. They are the first thing you think of when you wake up and the last thing you think about as you pretend to fall into some lost circadian rhythm.

You shut your eyes and feel those demons creeping in and wonder if you have what it takes to battle yet another prehistoric poppy field of rage. You’re not sure if you can handle it, so you keep your wife and mistress on speed dial. Wait…better we just get naked and fuck before the dragon spits its fire into your soul. The ceiling corrodes while the stucco slowly falls on your face like a feather in the breeze…

It’s okay though

….it’s all going to be okay because you wake up from your nightmare amidst the makeshift cardboard HESCOs you involuntarily built at some point in your deranged sleepless night. Not sure if they are serving as a barrier for sleep or as a barrier to life.

For better or worse, the once familiar strangers who call themselves your family have resumed their normal lives as they step over you, or maybe around you, on their way out the door to school and work. Despite the fact that you’re alone, you still hear their hushed echoes:

Oh, Dad had a nightmare again….
Why is Daddy sleeping like that?….
I don’t know if Daddy loves us anymore…
I don’t know who Daddy is anymore…

It’s okay though...

…it’s all going to be okay because you can put those boxes back in the garage as though nothing ever happened, right?

Besides, those late night booty calls have morphed into something organically and tangibly real. You know this because you haven’t seen breakfast over coffee in weeks (or has it been months?) Love blinds time. What does it matter? Looking at the Omega Speedmaster that once gripped your wrist was a waste of time anyway. You know that no matter what, your two secret lovers will always be there. Maybe they should meet…

Your first three-way date is in your muscle whip. You don’t know where you’re going, but as long as the three of you are together, everything will be fine. Going fast arouses carnal desires, making all three of you cry out and moan in lust. Eventually, you realize the primal screams almost drown out the twenty-seven missed calls. You ignore it, you’ve got things to do. Like remembering that road with the towering telephone pole at the end…. you know the one… the road where full throttle can reach max speed…. you know the one…the road with the sharp bend and nothing more than just a blurry, yellow, worthless slow-the-fuck-down sign … yeah.. that’s the one. It’s funny because every time you take that turn, the wheels chirp just a little more. The girls love that turn…

At least you get to see your former family every morning, right?? Your once favorite photo of your alleged family remains in that broken frame next to your pelican case on your bedside floor. You haven’t picked it up because the glass cuts you at each attempt and you think the blood looks kinda nice anyway. Sometimes, especially after a visit from your secret lovers, the only thing that distracts you from that haunting and ever-present frame is the beautiful matte black finish of your ever trusty, metalic best friend. Never leave home without him. He’s always got your back. He even promised that if you can’t handle your ionized wife and milliliter mistress, he can protect you. You know he’s your closest confidant because you cried hard together without judgement when you first fractured that picture frame. Even when he is staring down the back of your throat, he never judges you. One morning (or was it evening? doesn’t matter), he asked if he could hang out with you and your women. He promised not to be “that guy,” he just wanted to sit and watch. He promised he would only come out if anyone started screaming. You know you love him because he never lies to you. Your best friend will always keep a secret; your best friend will never break a promise.

At some point in the afternoon (or was it morning?), you scroll through your dilapidated laptop and try to remember the man, the hitter of hitters, in the pictures. Talk about a man crush. Would you look at the size of that guy? He must’ve been at least 220 pounds naked. You vaguely remember stories of him tossing around bad guys like hippies throwing a frisbee in the park. But then you remember hearing that he lost his shit some time ago. He couldn’t handle his kids putting his socks on for him… he couldn’t handle his mother washing his hair for him…. he couldn’t handle his beautiful wife wiping his ass. Fuck was she beautiful…so you remember.

The days no longer exist. What does a day matter if the world is on fire anyway? You know life still aimlessly rotates because your two women and best friend ensure the world will never stop spinning. Unless you ask them to make it stop….

You beg for the empty feeling in your chest to stop. You beg for the pain in your bones to just go away. You try to cry, but you haven’t felt tears since it was cold outside. Every now again you hear a buzz vibrate on the dresser cabinet, but you eventually beg for that to stop too. Same message every mother fucking time.

I’m here for you, bro…
Pick up your phone, bro…
Where are you, bro?…
Call me back, bro

You laugh to cover the screams because they don’t know you. They think that your squad doesn’t have your best interest at heart. But you know better. Those green lit messages mean nothing because they can’t keep a promise like your best friend….your best friend never breaks a promise.

One night, (or was it just black out curtains? doesn’t matter), the world still spins just for you. You finally concede to your metallic best friend and invite him to join your ritual threesome. He hesitantly agrees. You laugh with a positive affirmation of love. The screams start earlier than usual, but that’s okay. Sometimes you can swallow them whole. Your four-sided bedroom becomes a triangle of palpable faces, and you’re not sure if you’re laying on the floor or standing on the ceiling. Seeing how fucked up you are, your bro asks if you’re alright. He’s here for you. Soon, you violently expel both of your women from inside of you via the porcelain waterway – they always leave behind the feeling of unconditional love without the small talk.

Now, it’s bro time; metal on metal sliding back and forth gives you the feels. This is it!, you assure him, no more hesitation. He makes you promise. You force a smile as you raise your right your hand. You decide to count down together.

Here we go.
Let’s do this.

(the world stops its spin on the axis of which you pretend to exist… you know love only as a distant memory… any meaning of continuation stops for one remaining glimpse… the stimulus is a radical rush of life’s encore…)

(that damn vibration on the bedside turns into a disgusting, distracting amplified noise of second thoughts …Fuck the standing ovation!)

(it’s so bright, your bro starts shaking under your uncontrollable nightmare, you made a promise though… see it through, fucker…)

(here. we. go.  But, wait …you press the silent button, so the light doesn’t destroy your darkness, but then you see it…. only for a microsecond, but you see it…the shattered picture frame with those vaguely familiar faces in blood- covered glass….)


DOOOOOO IT MOTHERFUCKER… END THIS SHIIIIIIIIT!!!!!! (vowing to keep your promise but you can’t stop looking at those strangers at your feet)




You crumble into the sand of hardwood and do what you promised your best friend you’d never do — you let him go.

You ache for his attention, but he is silent. Doesn’t even appear to care. But it doesn’t matter. That persistent picture frame has somehow moved itself next your unrecognizable face. You can make out a reflection in the fragmented glass, but barely. You’re not sure who he is, but he stares back at you…only deeper. You ask him what he’s doing here…

…he speaks without saying a word…

You hurt. But you know. Fear is good. Pain is better.

So this is where WE are. Rock Bottom AF. But I am alive…and that’s a start.

ZeroMorphine is an OAF Nation OG. He's currently at 15 years on active duty and spends 70% of his time scared out of his mind. 80’s baby turned GWOT Navy, Z has been around the dirty playground more than a few times. From his beginnings in the Recon/Raider lifestyle, to his continued search of the perfect deployment, he remains true to the counter-culture. Z has penned OAF Nation favorites Pistol Circus and Rock Bottom while also capturing our hearts with Tiger in the Lotus. His dream is to retire, move to the mountains, find peace by a river and continue to inspire critical thought for critical skills.