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Past Camp Verde where the clean road dies, There’s a sunburned kingdom under chemical skies. Red dirt, dead cars, dogs on chains, Sweat on the mattress and meth in the veins. Foil on the windows, blood on the sink, Everyone talking too fast to think. The trailer walls breathed when the desert went black, While somebody cooked another batch out back. I learned real young what the grown folks do: Get spun all night and screw the whole crew. No jobs, no future, no clean escape Welcome home to Tweaker Lakes. Screen door screaming at four in the morning, Somebody’s husband comes home without warning. Jeans on the floor, glass by the bed Blame it on the dope and do it again. Welcome to Tweaker Lakes, Where nobody sleeps and everybody shakes. We fuck like animals and lie like saints, Then wipe our mouths before the daylight breaks. You never lose your ol’ lady You just lose your turn. She’s in your best friend’s bedroom While your little glass pipe burns. Welcome to Tweaker Lakes, Where love gets passed around the place. No one stays faithful, nobody stays safe Everybody gets fucked in Tweaker Lakes. I knew a woman with five “true loves,” Depending on which one showed up with drugs. She called me forever with her hand down my jeans, Then blew my neighbor for a quarter gram of dreams. Her boyfriend watched from a plastic chair, Too spun to fight and too numb to care. He said, “That’s my woman,” with a twitch in his face. She laughed, “Not tonight—you lost your place.” Husbands, girlfriends, cousins and wives, Trading spit underneath porch-light flies. Your brother’s boots sitting next to your bed, Your best friend’s naked and your marriage is dead. No need for jealousy, wait and learn Everybody in the neighborhood gets a turn. Romance was dead, but the mattresses still shook While the whole damn town pretended not to look. Whose truck is parked beside the door? Whose dirty underwear is on the floor? Nobody knows and nobody cares Just light another cigarette and poison the air. Welcome to Tweaker Lakes, Where nobody sleeps and everybody shakes. We fuck like animals and lie like saints, Then wipe our mouths before the daylight breaks. You never lose your ol’ lady You just lose your turn. She’s in your best friend’s bedroom While your little glass pipe burns. Welcome to Tweaker Lakes, Where love gets passed around the place. No one stays faithful, nobody stays safe Everybody gets fucked in Tweaker Lakes. We passed disease like a family name, Shared dirty needles and somebody else’s shame. Hepatitis hiding underneath the skin, Everybody swearing they were clean again. Sores beneath the makeup, lies behind the grin, Another stranger’s sickness getting carried in. Bodies changed beds and needles changed hands, Infection moved faster than the gossip ever can. Some carved lines into their arms at night, Trying to make the outside match the fight. Some punched the walls until their knuckles split, Because pain was the only honest thing they could admit. Nobody asked why. Nobody came. We learned how to bleed Before we learned our names. Swap your blood. Swap your mates. Everybody catches something in Tweaker Lakes. Hide the sores. Hide the shame. Say, “I love you,” then spread it again. Welcome to Tweaker Lakes, Where nobody sleeps and everybody shakes. We fuck like animals and bleed like saints, Passing our sickness with another taste. You never lose your ol’ lady You just lose your turn. She brings home more than betrayal Every time that glass gets burned. Welcome to Tweaker Lakes, Where every open wound becomes a grave. We traded blood, disease and names Everybody gets infected in Tweaker Lakes. Then the badges came looking for Uncle Ken, Over unpaid parking tickets—that’s how it began. A handful of paper, authority armed, A petty little debt became permanent harm. By sunrise he was dead. They said they did no wrong. They wrote their version neatly And expected us to move along. But we called it murder. We still speak his name. No unpaid ticket Should ever end that way. They wore the law like armor. We wore black beside his grave. Another family shattered By the people paid to keep us safe. No report could resurrect him. No excuse could make amends. Tweaker Lakes remembers What happened to Uncle Ken. There’s no water in the lake, Just sickness in the veins. No mercy in the badge, Just paperwork and graves. No white wedding sheets, Just cigarette burns and stains. No innocent survivors, Just different kinds of pain. The Verde River kept moving Like nothing ever changed, While we buried Uncle Ken And cursed the badges without names. The children watched the grown-ups Fuck, hallucinate and bleed, Then learned that even uniforms Could put you underneath. Seven days awake made the telephone breathe, Made shadow people crawl through the mesquite. Power lines twisted into alien veins, And the moon kept screaming everybody’s name.

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