It started as a puncture,
but the seam slowly ripped;
a thimble can't protect
from a poison needle tip.

She tried to mend it
by making more holes;
the tear only grew
and grew out of control.

At the spinning wheel
her life would quickly dwindle;
frantic attempts to hem
were depleting the spindle.

What started as a puncture
of seductive sedation
fueled the abuse
of machined perforation.

"Don't mourn a living corpse"
were the last words she said
as she drew the needle
that held the last thread.

#addiction   #life   #death   #heroin   #needle   #thread   #sewing  

I saw an old friend today.
She'd aged 30 years
in the few she'd been away.

Her former glow is all but gone,
No spark behind her green eyes.
Little more than skin and bone.

Time takes us all for a ride,
And leaves the marks on us
To check our faith and pride

But the woman I saw was not
A victim of time, no,
Her fate has been hand-wrought

My heart is broken, I fought tears
While she stood there
Recounting addiction that had added those years

I saw an old friend today
That time and heroin have taken away.
She says she's clean,
Trying to get her shit together.
Her face is skeletal,
The track-marks got her arms like leather.
But she says she's better.
It's hard, but she's better.
She just needs a break,
And if the world will let her
A chance to come back,
A chance to start over,
She says she's clean again,
She tells me she loves me,
And that last part is the straw
That breaks my emotional back,
And the pain in my chest
Feels like a heart attack
And I hugged her as if
I'd never see her again.
And begged any God that would listen
To prove me wrong.

I know I'm typically tighter with form and pattern and syllable counts, but this is some emotional work. I'm not even proofreading.  I'm a mess right now.  My little podunk home town is a opiate wasteland and seeing somebody that I love so much looking like death really gave it "a face", so to speak.  Pardon my language, but FUCK HEROIN, and the people that sell it.  And while we're at it, the doctors that get people hooked on the legal stuff.
#sad   #addiction   #life   #heroin   #sickness  
Camden Cobain
Camden Cobain
4 days ago

L/ yesterdave, I can picture Glaswegian Dave
w/ his Robert Plant locks (sebaceous oils hairoically
serving this roughsleeping Jock), embroiled in t/ usual
skelartries of vagrants w/ SKOL arteries:
sherry, heroin, needlesheroin shenanigans
& shenanipettycrime. Tucking into some horse
w/ no need f/ a pairofteeth, after a Specialbrew aperitif,
then some post 'iccup pisticuffs w/ crabby cabbies
down Tesco taxirank. They drove away, but he drank
& stayed & stayed & stayed. Dave
also got my grunger brother from another mother,
Koopa Trooper's lil' sis in t/ familyway at 14. Kudos
to underage Liz tho', being wooed
by such a tatterdemalionmaned skaggis,
Sideshow Boabbarneted smackonteur
- love is, after all, showbiz. Anyhoo, 1 time
Glaswegian Dave regaled me w/ a gouch down memorylane,
of riding pillion on a furshlugginer chromeboneshaker deathtrap,
revved by a fellow fuckhead porridgewog across
t/ Forth Bridge at breakneck Braveheart brums,
a Highlandwind afroing his Robert Plant mane
(preserved so remarkably,  I must reremark,  
by sebaceous oils, despite a lifetime
on t/ slabs & on t/ tiles), w/ a deathwrap
of Deadly Nightshade, belladonna sellotaped
under his armpit. Dave davulged that  t/ trick
was to rip that bellotaped selladonna
off t/ 2nd  you felt toxin titillate
t/ psycho-attic sweet spot, or
'Ma hert widhae exploded, laddie, at 90 miles an oor!
Hootsmonseeyoujimmygroundskeeperwillieetc.'  

A typical Gen Xer deathwish teen at t/ time,
that oxterry devil's cherry deathcultmystery
& armpit raspberry to life, Atropic trip
on a murderbike sounded l/ a ride home to me.

If anyone considers 'porridgewog' racist, they really need to get a life.
Sir WCA
Sir WCA
Feb 11

Keep your friends close
but your enemies closer


That why I keep you
right under my nose
and right at the
edge of my skin
just above
my favorite vein

a bittersweet reminder
of the chaos

far enough away
so I don't destroy myself

just yet

You never leave my mind
although you're absent
from my blood
It's been three long years
since I've used you
as a crutch

I imagine we'll meet again
when I'm too old
to live alone
Wasting away the last
of my days
in a fucking nursing home

I'll order you like room service,
it'll be just like
old times
The nurse that brings you in,
an angel working
on the devil's dime

Institutionalized again,
the first time
to wash me clean
Another supervised rodeo,
this time
to make a fiend

I honestly can't wait

Rehab to rid myself of you, the nursing home will bring you back. I hate you almost as much as I love you.
#heroin   #opiates  

i watch you
rockin' and noddin'

my heart swoons

rockin' and noddin'
that's all your body can do

blood inside your sleeves
puke and piss on the floor

my mama heart
my mama heart

your precious heart

this mama heart
can't take no more


Copyright © 2017.
Christi Michaels.
MoonFlower Fluer de Luna
All Rights Reserved.

Soph
Soph
Jan 30

u is a leather byrd
and the siringe is a plastic wing
after the nite ur hands stay cold
cuz you don't shoot there any more
i am spinning down and down
motel skirts, stains in truckstops
because i can hear
whispers of stories
i can bearly remembar

#addiction   #heroin   #memories   #blood   #birds   #push   #grammar   #overdose   #needle  

Come on and dance with me
It’s easy if you try
Come on and dance with me
Follow my lead and glide

Slip in the mud
Racing through your blood
You’re as good as gone
Drifting away with eyes half-shut

Come on and dance with me
It’s easy if you try
Come on and dance with me
You’re stepping out of time

It’s a living Hell
Cold sweats, puke, and pain
Your skin goes blue
When you drink the blackened rain

Do you want to dance with me?
It’s easy if you try
Come on and dance with me
As we fall down from the sky

Oh, come on and dance with me
It’s easy if you try
Come on now, dance with me
And I’ll shiver down your spine

The warmth is gone
The rush is fleeting away
You’ve nodded off
For the last time

You’ve come here to dance with me
So give me your best try
You've tread upon my dancing shoes
It’s now your time to die

Come on and dance with me
It’s easy if you try
Now, tell me 'bout your dance with death
Was it worth the high?

Come on and dance with me--

Title obviously a play on Poe's "The Masque of the Red Death." Where Poe's piece was about plague and disease, this piece is such for drug use, namely heroin (hence "Brown Death," "Blackened rain" "mud," and other such references). Drug use and abuse is an epidemic here in the United States. It is a disease, it can almost be described as a plague. This is just a quick poem (song) about the true hazard of drug use. The high is not worth the side effects, the psychological and physiological addiction, the pain and suffering, and the effects on others the drug(s) cause.
(You know exactly what drugs we're talking about here.)
#dance   #death   #drugs   #heroin   #dancing   #brown   #poe   #drugabuse   #druguse   #masque  
Baylee
Baylee
Jan 25

Confined to the four walls of my room,
Lost without you,
Locked away in my self made tomb.
Crying into my pillow
Til its tear stained on both sides,
Knowing that that was our last goodbye.
I miss you.
There is nothing left to do but
Reminisce you,
And I intend to.
You were my heroin.
And when I was down,
You were my heroine.
But now that well is dry,
So I drown my sorrows in booze
And all I do is cry.
I don't know why you left me,
But it makes sense;
I'm depressing, you see.
But it's okay because
I have a lot of time alone,
To think of where I first went wrong.
But you're all I seem to want,
You're all I ever think of,
And your presence haunts my thoughts.

#love   #heroin   #heroine   #dead   #thoughts   #goodbye   #inlove   #reminisce   #haunt   #tomb  
Sir WCA
Sir WCA
Jan 20

Hi

I'm sirwca

I enjoy reading poetry
and shooting heroin
in my free time

I make up for my lack of social skills
by coming up with cool handshakes
with death,
pushing life straight to the edge
just to chicken out
when the time comes to jump

I traded all the beautiful, small things
in my life for an eraser,
smearing off the supposed typos
of an essay written for the act
of breathing

All the components associated
with aforementioned essay
cease to exist
when I poison myself


The good, the bad,
and everything
in between

I wrote this in memory of a dying train of thought, of a time when the only way I could look was down.

Cotton pillows swim in a pool of alcohol
Like moths in an autumn light
In lazy ovals.
The needle stands at calm attention
Like thirsty corn in a sumer rain
Drinking slowly in
A tourniquet writhes on yielding flesh
Like a relentless boa constrictor creating
Bulges of anticipation
While the hungry eye watches.
                 *

No, I never did it.
#drugs   #heroin  
 
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