16 hours ago

10 Things you should know about being a child growing up with a dying parent:

1. When you and your classmates are first learning how to read a dictionary, there will always be one word they don’t know: privacy. When they ask you where it is, you’ll be able to tell them that it’s the 29th word on the 925th page of a Merriam Webster dictionary published in the year 2001. But when you’ve given them all they asked, their favorite word will still be “public.”

2. The day you learn how to use the hospital equipment is the day you are no longer a child

3. You are born an adult. You come out of the womb with the intellect and physical ability to care for your family because that is what they need. You are a peasant child in the middle ages: work begins the day you are born and your job won’t stop till you are buried with her.

4. When you come back to school, people will develop a favorite phrase. It will be a 1 2 punch along with the word public: “How are you?” Tell them you’re ok. Tell them you are happy and glad you are back. Don’t tell them what you want to. That you are diagnosed with a sunken chest a hole over your heart. Don’t tell them you wish cocaine was more available because hell: at least if your face is numb maybe you won’t cry as much.

5. Not everything needs a retaliation. See there was one time a kid walked up to me and asked if I was ok; I said go away; he said “You don’t get to be mad just because she’s dead.”

6. Anger. . .becomes tight fit clothing you never take off. You are a man created by the affectionate pages of Chinua Achebe: You “never showed any emotion openly, unless it be the emotion of anger” the problem is when you are only agry, Things always fall apart

7.  When they ask you if you are handling her death well, and you want to scream no blasting out the last breath you’ve held since she breathed her last! Don’t do anything but ask them if. . .

8. They ever knew her full name

9. As you walk through the halls of a high school building, be the dog that smells ignorance. When you hear those children tell you every part of their lives they struggle with, all the homework they have, the B’s they might get, the hangovers they get from drinking away their immaturity, tell them what it means to clash with your own mental composure. Tell them that. . .

10. You have been doing homework over a dying body for the better half of your life. Homework was the rock you leaned on because it was the only deadline you knew, Chemotherapy was the foundation of chemical equations, blood pressure was the only fractions you saw, your English vocab was the list of pain medications---

Life was a class on defusing bombs. . .and a flatline didn’t mean defused but at least the end was written in stone

#death   #drugs   #loss   #school   #health  
Julieta Aurelio
Julieta Aurelio
20 hours ago

Look at her, head swinging down high as a motherfucker, totally zoned out, feeling the music in her veins.
That's your daughter.
Look at her, heart pounding, eyes hanging, fast pacing and hallucinating.
That's your daughter.
Look at her, whose legs have been opened up like magazine pages, pussy fingered to leg shaking moments.
That's your daughter.
Look at her, how she's moaned in pleasure and mourned in pain, through open wrist blood stains and arched her back in multiple orgasms... smoked what away?
That's your daughter.
Look at her, she's sobbed in dark corners, heavy heaving under shower taps in late nights with thighs and wrists opened by surgical razor blades and eyes blowing in acidic water... smoked all away.
That's your daughter.
Look at her, heart beat losing pace, breath almost entirely gone, ghost skin turning pale with water filled lungs, fingers blue.
That's your daughter.
Look at her, body heaving, shaking and sweating with blood flowing like an open tap between him, her and the knife inside him, inside and under the body of the fucking bastard that had raped her, she's got on a smile of devious satisfaction. 
She saves herself, mother.
She ends herself.
That's your daughter.
That's your daughter.
Should have called her,
should have asked her;
What had happened that dark night she lost her innocence, had her purity turned into filthy black and blue, blood dripping hymen broken and had her virginity lustfully licked away.
Can you identify the her body, mother?
Look at her.

#depression   #drugs   #self-harm   #escape   #blood   #murder   #weed   #rape   #vengence   #vendetta  
Mary Scott
Mary Scott
2 days ago

I got sick of comparing you to drugs
that did no justice to the high I felt each time you held me
and juxtaposing ,
you to a sunset was bullshit
I feared I could not capture all your colors in words
what the fuck do I compare you to?
You swallowed me whole and let me crumble in front of you,
you digested me until you were sick and spit me out like dip,
I got sick of comparing you to songs,
I didn't want you stuck in my head anymore
and juxtaposing you to shattered glass didn't pick up the pieces on the floor from when I could not articulate the hurt in my heart and
threw all the god damn picture frames against the plaster wall,
I got sick of comparing you to a missed phone call,
because at least then you'd give me enough attention to ignore it,
juxtaposing you to the sunset was bullshit because you never stuck around long enough to really sink in

#drugs   #summer   #music   #breakup   #angry   #sunset   #glass   #draft   #random   #freeverse  
Mary Scott
Mary Scott
2 days ago

I write the best at night when I can't sleep
the IV is dressed like stability,
heart like an addict but could never commit.
unhealthy habits I never wanted to quit
I didn't look sick.

when the memories are lucid and loud
your words come alive in nightmares,
nurses rush to check I'm not climbing out the fire escape again
easier to jump out than to let anyone in

so used to leaving in a panic I never learned to use the door,
I still feel the burn of your hand on my cheek and the cool of the floor

I write the best at night when I can't sleep
the IV is dressed like stability,
heart like an addict but could never commit.
unhealthy habits I never wanted to quit
I didn't look sick.

I took classes about drugs
what could happen if we tried them
All the street names and side effects,
prison times and famous users
but we never learned what to do when the drug had
brown hair and blue eyes and held your hand in the back of a cruiser

I didn't look sick,
I climbed out the fire escape quick
for one last hit because you asked me to and I didn't think twice about it

#love   #sad   #drugs   #breakup   #personal   #angry   #freeverse   #addict  
Leigha Fabian
Leigha Fabian
2 days ago

sweet gas station champagne
and rocky cocaine
melodic moans escape
as you whisper my name
our tongues dance
like children in soft summer rain
silky lips on my breasts
desire surging through my veins

now drunk on your presence
and high on romance
you softly kiss my forehead
then slip on your pants
body tingling, mind racing
while lost deep in your trance
you waltz out the door and slur
"glad i had the chance”

#love   #man   #drunk   #lonely   #drugs   #mystery   #night   #sex   #one   #stand  

Deathreat Man sent Mrs.Deathreat to the continent,
dud doves smuggled thru the Chunnel in her clungeal
cavity, but even the Olympicwatchdog’s  
human snifferdogs wouldn’t conduct a narc
nosedive into Mrs.Deathreat’s  Annsummersnumber,
coz the amount of drugs in the drugs
the Deathreats deal is next to nil,
contrabland, all the scorer chorma
minus the highness.  Mrs. Deathreat
was mule with a hole, she was
Muffin the Muff, but hug drugs up her clopper
kept the pillheads of La Rochelle
social clodhoppers who danced like Joecocker,
so they sent
themselves to bed early outta pity
for their own unhappening, nonfunspasming
hips. They wanted to be eating their upperlips,
they were brownedoff that the grey gradegetter their mums
had maximised with Omega3 hadn’t had its chips,
in no danger of being Gallic Gatecrasherkids.
They wanted to be braiMDaMAged,
Bezzes in berets on duracell drugs, balistically
blissed enuff for
Balearic drill ‘n’ bass drum ‘n’ gluegun
bhangraggabba Gangsta Abba or the Triphopscotch,
but they were no buzzing sitting ducks
for whatever vibranium vinyl
spun like Lindablair’s head or whatever Tonyblair eversaid
on decks that layer beats.
On the plusside, none of Mrs.Deathreat’s fleeced Frenchies
would do a Leahbetts, but that would not console
the Pillheads of La Rochelle, les herberts, still tediously
on their cognitits unless the Angel Ravey L
- pushermanifestation of the patron saint of getting mashed -
pharmathaumaturgically ticks
up some of that numinous shit
for neurotransmission,
a miracle drug effective without ingestion, Immaculate
Consumption, when all the laws of biochemistry go Petetong.
But, alas, riboflavin and ibuprofen are harder and more
happycore, send
cerebrum more signals of fly bo’ ravin’
than shonk Es Mrs.D
squelchily dealt from out crotchless unmentionables.

Now, the technotarantist addicts d’Avignon,
les personnes adonnees a ‘aving one
from Provencal Pontefract-on-the-Rhone
(where Picasso pimps scrimp
coz Cubist hookers ain’t lookers),
les avaleurs of mitzies and bishies
rather than le plonque (rouge ou blanc),
wou’nt ‘ave it if they weren’t ‘aving it
in that wellaged wine of a town.
They’d be sent spare
if Mrs.Deathreat dared diddle ’em there
with fraudulent Franglais avowals that they’d
‘avoir it large, Pierre!’
There’d be stormin’ Bourbons in Avignon, yeah,
if they couldn’t electwitch to DJ Saintvitus
because of some shite doves. Adamdroppers
in Avignon know their discobiscuits
from their biscodiscuits, comprende?
But the Pillheads of La Rochelle? Quelle pillocks!

XTCtablet escroquette sent by her deaththreatening
not dishwashening husbandit,
madame des merde mollies sent shit shivers
of letdown lucidity thru the cuddle puddle jungle
drums that pure vexes the cortexes of Senors Beeg
amongst thizz biz fixers, the Cortez Bruvas.
As young fluff she'd boasted more
overzealous sweaty inspectors than Ofsted,
but now Mrs Deathreat's hairy goblet
would be of sweet fanny adams interest
to the syndicate if only her fanny adams were sweeter.
Funnily enough, fact her serpent socket
is no Aladdin’s cave of Hacienda Hedex,
but more an  Anadin Cove of dummy drugs
has dem Cortez muthas jumpy thugs.
Traffikers of Lover’s Speed in hock
to the Sam Madrid mob, they express
narcommercial concerns that mock mookers
up her thrushenflamed damianduff
are so cuttonaffall, it could senda fad for temperance
thruout chemiculture of a continent,all
the bluerooms and dancetents of Europa
being once burnt, twice straight
(or turn respectable taxpaying pissheads,
staying in caining an unprohibited crate or eight,
pickling themselves to preserve the State).
But before suspicion  about the serotonocidal
supplyline snowballs, before the Cortezes
even depart the chilloutroom to kill,
or at least put les frighteneurs on her and the tangy
baggie of humbug harryhills, whack weekenders
up her suspenders and past her pudenders,
his missus was already on the homewardbound Eurostar
- for her darling Deathreat was a disastrous
domestic selffender, who'd sent a guava
to the vet's and put her Pomeranian in the blender,
tho' pertainian to value of life he's vilipender,
so to animedic aforementioned prolly not
Snoopy smoothie sender,
unless off the invoice for the guava's jabs
it might scare up a nice little subtrahender.

Pauline Russell
Pauline Russell
5 days ago

Monkey's awake
Crawling on in
Just under the skin
He start to rake

Throw the switch
Hands start shaking
Feel the quaking
A growing itch

Self control wanes
He always wins
Know how it ends
With me not sane

Constant beauty and contract signing,
Steps outside the door to flashing lights,
From center stage:

Her bedroom of anxiety.

Greeted by the sea of paparazzi,
They seem less genuine than a crowd of assassins,

Only reporting on things that will tear down a reputation,

Publicity that weighs on the soul.

Notoriety was never supposed to make it hard to breathe,
But the only soft air comes on the end of heroin needles
That one day will pass too much relief into your veins

And make a pop star that much more famous.

#death   #drugs   #anxiety   #art   #music   #abstract   #fame   #modern   #pop  

watercolor doves swim
lavender and turquoise seas
raindrops of blood
from my tired eyes
and I
am so very lost
and I
am so very gone

tiny droves of minute fireflies
dance across
green feathered arms
my eyes and tongue
velvet stars
it is so very
to fall and it
is so
to love myself

bright orange flashes
the green serenity
my sleep-drunk mind
and I
am not awake enough
but I
am still alive

#drunk   #depression   #drugs   #depressed   #sleep   #dreams   #art   #dreaming   #colors   #high  

The malady of age
and the dangers still ahead
aches and newer pains
some, just inside my head

The doctor prescribes
pills and other things
to him I'm just a number
waiting in the wings

The TV tells me of drugs
I should use and try
I tell this to my doctor
he readily complies

I know that big pharma
is ever in control
pushing every remedy
they ply, sell, and extol

I wish for blissful dreams
of painless nights and days
a human type of guinea pig
chemically played

Wondering, only in periphery
of smaller type not read
dying of the cure
Pharmaceutically fed

I think every drug has the following warnings, "may cause diarrhea, or death, or death by diarrhea". :D
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