Seven years ago,
that’s when the problems began.
I started self medicating,
with a Tennessee brand.

At the top I had it all,
married with two kids.
I was finally in six figures,
when the **** began to skid.

Love had grown cold,
and became an abyss.
A couple of drinks to ease the stress,
but I felt ice in every kiss.

It became a routine,
when you simply shut down.
The drinks helped me forget,
but they also helped me drown.

Then one day we were strangers,
who were sharing a life.
I didn’t recognize the woman,
who I had asked to be my wife.

Then came the eruption,
and the stones were cast.
The family tore apart,
and WE became past.

Fast forward a year,
and I’m being let go.
The company’s closing,
and I’ve nothing to show.

Then goes the house,
and the car that we owned.
Everything is stripped now,
and I’m down to the bone.

Self medication,
is what helps the pain.
You were cheating the whole time,
and now you’re with what’s his name.

Now the medication,
is what’s causing the pain.
I’m trying to stop,
but I’m stuck in this lane.

Self medication,
self destruction in disguise.
Hospital visits,
simply wanting to die.

Looking back now,
it was a nightmare it seems.
One I couldn’t wake from,
that still haunts my dreams.

I wasn’t an alcoholic,
I had a mental breakdown.
I used the alcohol,
so I could help myself drown.

It took a long time,
and I’m still healing slow.
But hell came to earth,
and I was part of the show.

So forgive yourself,
and try to move on.
Let go of that pain,
and realize that it’s gone.

If you’re trying to forget,
then you’re lying to yourself.
So do yourself a favor,
and put the bottle on the shelf.

"And said,
'Naked come I
Out of my mother's womb.
And naked shall I
Return thither:
The Lord gave,
And The Lord
Hath taken away;
Blessed be the
Name of The Lord."
Job 1:21
We used to go
To church as
A family,
Down at St. Mark's.
But when Mark died
He became my saint
God hath taken away,
And he gave me
A scar that could
Never heal.
So I left God
To find my way
Without any light.
I am self medicating,
So I can be numb
And be devoid of feeling
When I remember
What The Lord took
Away from me.
On the day I
Graduated and
Saw young men
With smiling fathers,
All I could hear were
The words I would
Never hear.
I'm proud of you, son.
So if I tell you
Not to take it for granted,
Forgive the envy
In my voice,
And the stains
On my cheeks.
I am self medicating,
So I can be numb
And be devoid of feeling
When I remember
What The Lord took
Away from me.
Forgive me for not
Being able to fix a car
Like your father showed you.
Because all I remember
Are the brief flashes
Of a man and his son
Fishing at the river.
By the time he died,
He smoked Marlboros
And used to drive
A ******* Pepsi truck,
Too young to give a ****.
Then a branch broke
And a family was devastated.
I am self medicating,
So I can be numb
And be devoid of feeling
When I remember
What The Lord took
Away from me.
I can't remember
The sound of his voice
And I can't feel the joy
Of having him say
How proud he is
Of what I have become,
Of the man he raised.
I am self medicating,
So I can be numb
And be devoid of feeling
When I remember
What The Lord took
Away from me.
So count your blessings
As I flush the pills
Because I'm fifteen
Fathoms deep, and counting
As I try to remember
The sound of his voice
And what The Lord took
Away from me.
If I thought
That there was
An afterlife where
I could meet him,
I would be flushing
My life instead of pills.
The Lord hath taken.

It's my version of self medicating that's the worst

I go down hill at full through an almost I finite tunnel of numbness
The melancholy sweeps over me paralyzing me I can't move.
I'm stuck in this rut.

Then the poison is the only way to make me feel alive again.

We all want to feel alive

We want that adrenalin

I'd **** for the rush, while risking myself

Then it happens, it's the all time high,
nothing can be better for a night
and then you're left with your head between your knees on the next train home with the over sized glasses  feeling like you've just survived a plane crash.

But it's my remedy

I become reckless to prove a point to myself
That I can do and be whoever I want

When I look back I call it idiotic and stupid and lie and say its a regret but it's really not

I put the facade of hate towards my actions
But really it was a thrill that is now etched in my veins.

So I slither back into reality until the next problem or coldness hits
and I'm back at square one

It's a fever I can't sweat out
They're becoming my roots
It already has a pattern

It's attempting to form a routine

In a far away forest there was a bear who felt very blue.
She simply could not snap out of it, and didn’t know what to do.
There was no reason for this sadness, her life was going well,
But at random times in every day, tears would start to swell
This feeling kind of scared her, but even more than that,
It made her feel embarrassed, like some sort of selfish brat
I don’t know why I’m like this, she constantly thought to herself.
I have no reason to feel this way, I have my legs, my sight, my health
There are bears in other places who have lost their homes to fires,
And baby bears in situations that are absolutely dire.
But these thoughts did not allieviate her internal pain,
In fact they only made it worse, topping sadness off with shame.
While she wanted to go talk to someone, to find out what was wrong
She settled for self-medicating, taking hits off of a ****
This helped her out a little bit, at least for a short while
But it was not a real fix, to say so was denial
So this went on for months and months, getting progressively worse,
And the bear learned to carry the weight of it, bending to this curse
She became her toughest critic, her own worst enemy
An ugly, unlovable idiot is what she thought herself to be.
I can’t tell you what happened to her, I simply do not know
Maybe she’s still out there somewhere, just putting on a show.

1
Shh…the rain cooed, calming the flood that rages
Still a concern…or was
Now placed upon the wetted soil
Transfigured, blessed in holy oils scented with cinnamon.
#2
I grasp at the compass that Donne reassured,
Tragic to find it etched in notes
Of the Song of Swans:
It may commune beneath a firmament of birds
Yet, it seems divided in this steely sky—the color of wrathful swords—
I sniff: it smells of cinnamon.
#3
I am drawn by the scented bliss, anointed in general
That is, with the rest,
But somehow, cologned, it’s too sweet, too new
Now a criminal to laws of ancient Hebrew.
To the iron clouds, the necks will bend,
To turn from he who smells of
Cinnamon
That is, with the rest.
#4
Yet, they do not smell
Nor peel back its bark lest it poison the oil
As rain poisons soil,
And ignore, as they do, when rain is to come,
The oil is fragranced evil with cinnamon.
#5
And though I complain, clack to the mud
It, too, smells of cinnamon,
And so we’re the same.
#6
“****” is my cry. “**** them to their hell,”
Burn the concrete buildings, tear away social offal
That, with some entreaty, seems to plague us all! Why so much Injustice?
Who are you? A God? What makes one lump of clay
A clod, the other a home? Upon the heads of refused beings
How do you stand so tall? You can’t lest your empire fails
While the seesaw of suffering hoist up the side of wails
And smoke the vital oxygen,
Scowls, the first impression
Worried not about advancing goals but living day to day,
The things that move metabolisms, world-wide, subject to pay,
Wasting our lives not in 9-to-5s but looking
And failing to find
And toting excess and praising their holders
While blaming the others born from behind
Partitions drawn in world wars started for oil
For money, for wealth, both so glutted and glutting pride a nation wide
While its cells are tinged with cancer,
Both sides of false dichotomy claiming they have the answer, to answer the question
Of recidivism, the poor and they are to live or get along, dangling the carrot so high
It goes above their dreams, and it’s so blurry that it’s hard to tell
What exactly one pursues,
Or race, religion,
Of a woman’s place in the is to see how absurd such a question should be,
Here is a question that seems appropriate: why are differences discouraged,
Who says what is better but the powers that be
Lenses shaped for us to see only those things specifically made
To make the made untouchable,
And they do it, and will not stop, we’re left with no hope
But from where pleasure is wrought: drugs and sedatives that
Blunt the mind that worries, sober, replacing them until they’re over
But without any solution; a bandage to a bandage
Since a sober mind that cognizes problems can’t possibly solve them in the same state
Of mind.
A lust for love with no genuine conception,
*******, deflowering with cold, stony hearts
Fostered in a day and age where manipulation is more inescapable means
And less insidious art,
So broken by our broken dreams and forced to walk without contention
Compromising on who we are
No struggle to help make us strong
A simple shrug to carry on,
While the most powerful blood, the fire in our veins is given, given, given
To those we think we love,
While we sit dreaming and falling in love with love
Always coddling the scars, where the blood and sinew were streaming
Until they are closed and pink, taut and empty like a drum
Still yearning to beat the same rhythm again,
Needing to learn before synchrony may happen
And two drums may beat to the other’s tune,
Feeling some pulse that holds us feet from decay
All the warmth and butterflies
Come in a zephyr smelling of fetid, carrion meat
That makes true affection
Feel like maggots in the skin
And we leave to new horizons, akin in their process:
Where they end, where they begin.
And yet we’re so weak in every regard, being the forge of our own fortress’ petard
Sade-masochists that run, run, run away
Feeling as though we’re cast to sea, waiting for the problem to deal with itself
A shining light house on a miserable horn
Hides by our back, the shore receding out, and even in the darkness
The vastness of the sea, there’s still the light cast ‘cross the sky
With the same, though fleeting, periodicity.
And I can do nothing, least, nothing of worth
Being as I am, a whiny little white boy with middle class struggles,
Well-fed, well-cared for, and some domestic unrest
But I am minor, mediocre at best,
And have never had the muscles, the mettle, put truly to the test.
So I can only complain beneath the anthill of my worries
And all my attempts to make any change are thwarted by my failings, my comfort
My life,
Doing drugs, self-medicating because it’s the best I can come up with
Spiraling beyond uncontrollable until it is no longer
Me whose spinning down to destruction,
That was something of the past
Now, I truly have nothing to grasp
And I kick and I scream and I try and I try and I try
But look in dismay at any hope I may have for people to change, yet their conduct belies
A sense or desire to be anointed enspiced
Since the general oil has seemed to suffice, and that’s not enough, but I just want some change
Some honesty, but I can’t find it, I know not what I feel
All this angst piling up, like a chapter in the life of Holden Caulfield:
He’s my ******* idol since I pressed with all this
Stupidity with no venue but complaints
And this is doing nothing, this ******* poetry, neither solving nor affording comfort
Back to me. It is art and no one cares
It has no voice, save the face-value point
And I want meaning, and so I try to make it knowing full well
The intention is demeaning, but not in my writing
Its filthy fingers touching on everything that I’d like to achieve
Legitimately, but it’s all conditioned
It’s breakdown is imminent  
If only I knew how accept
Oils scented with cinnamon.
I wish I was different, or acted upon it, instead of just ******* in the lines
Of a sonnet,
Or that others may smell of their own fragranced oils
Then trifles, then problems may seem something
Of little toil
But, but, but, where am I to go, where do I begin?
I’ve gone in circles, where I stopped I’ll start again
And I’ll never escape because…
#7
Shh…the rain cooed, calming the flood that rages
Still a concern…or was.
In due time the sun will do as it does:
Show us what is, is soon to be what was.
The nature of me, with little consistency, is grasping for a dawn
I see it coming up
Now that I’ve smelled the breeze
Of cinnamon.

All alone, mind lost,
No friends, just demons,
High sacrifice for low cost.

Sleepless nights, terror filled thoughts,
Unsteady heartbeat,
Unpure soul rots.

Crawling skin, fake bites,
Torn between two people,
Blind fought fights.

Gone to hell and back,
Medicating on *****
And low cost crack.

Her good person is herself,
With no memory of how she became,
She see's her, and grabs the lighter from the shelf.

Her evil person is Addict,
And is now in control,
And has just about had it.

One last dance, for old time's sake,
Absolutely no chance to live,
But a chance they take.

Dead heartbeat but shallow pulse,
Asleep like comatose,
Overdose.

look
ill drink and ill drink
until his hands no longer feel like his
and his face is him no more
i will feel him against me and i will grit my teeth
and shut my eyes and whisper to myself that it is you
ill keep drinking
until i open my eyes and its your eyes i see
he looks at me and he touches me
but i cannot feel the same
i want to be ok
but my insides are frozen
no amount of warmth from this stranger can melt the hurt you left in your wake
i trusted you
he wants me
i cant have you
so ill drink
and ill drink
until i cannot open my eyes
to see who is loving me now

Sleep, I've forgotten what that feels like.
Counting the minutes to each new sunrise
Whilst watching the days get shorter
Medicating the pain into the background

Eyes open, each movement screams awake
A thousand needles move under the skin
Weaving this tapestry of flesh and bone
An endless picture of what I've become

Shaking under the strain, the cracks appear
Small, too small to notice darkness creeping
Eroding the wall that holds back the dog
Waiting to charge, waiting to bite

Weeks pass as moments when the pain fades
But like an unwanted guest, refuses to leave
Reminding me that this is not over
Invading my dreams and crushing my will

a poem a day
keeps the therapist away.

We’ve accepted that we’re already dead.

Like the soldier
Like the victim
No, the veteran of love
(and subsequent heartbreak)
We’ve accepted we’re already dead
So we can keep on living.

I was broken.
No longer working
No longer dreaming
No longer wanting
Pushing away
The hands that tried to help me
The encounters that didn’t last broke me.
I was embattled.
In the trenches of my own existence.

Those we met
Under picture-perfect circumstances
When we thought utopia could be real
woefully disproved this theory.
Rude awakening to what agony feels like

And sleeping all day so we could self-medicate
all night.
Self-medicating with ***** and cigarettes
Not because we needed to but
For respite
For the moment
For a friend in the bottle
Or the lighter.

Life is war
Survival is the only option
Death, inevitable and imminent

We are the ones in the ring
We have lived here
We will die here.

There are those who are weak
Succumbing to the needles
The tap tap tap on veins
Or worse
Ordinariness
Boring as the 8x11’s
found in printers
All around the world.

I will not be ordinary.
Surrender is not an option.
Because I am a gladiator
I have adapted.
I’m still in the ring
But I will defend myself now.
They are the lions;
The king of their race
But I
I am a gladiator in a Gap V-Neck Tee shirt.
I will die with love in my heart,
Belief in my soul
My ashes will spell out the word Hope.

Nothing will break me ever again.

attention problems you say?
well it's no wonder
our lives are dominated by screens
that keep appearing like pop-ups
and have you ever lived in a city?
it's hard not to be distracted
by thick framed pointless glasses
and whatever might be bobbing beneath those skirts
and we are the iced coffee frappamochalattechino generation
so it makes sense that we can't sit still
and when all of the information
in the known universe is just a google away
then why would we pay attention in school?
adderall
focalin
ritalin
*******
****
****
speed
what's the difference
it's all about medicating regulation to stop the second guessing
even when it rains we see the pitter patter
of each individual droplet
splashing
on each individual street
from west coast
to the orients
and when people can quote more commercials
than books
then where is the surprise?
let the adhd be
stop telling kids to stop day dreaming
it's the only thing that might save them
from later life mid-life crisis screaming

ive seen the world all people same
we love we fear, deprived, insane
absolute mass and no division for the HQ supervision
we are Trialed in side by solicitude at night
blindfolded OF!
superiority of those that are biting in our nose
medicating under-eighteen that appear so differently
and thus don't reap the boredom we are destined to live through
im sorry that I'm different
and I'm sorry that I speak
for the nation of the flowers
all fragile but not weak

I’m toxic
A little psychotic
I take zyprexa, an anti-psychotic, I don’t know if it’s working
My own fault though, I keep self medicating
I take the pills they prescribe and they help but not when my mind is racing
Speed, it’s ironic really
Because it slows me down and I am able to function
I can show affection and my emotions seep out of my bones
But it causes everyone to leave me alone
Is it my fault? Is it something misdiagnosed?
I don’t know, I only know how I feel and I use when I don’t know how to deal
Life is roaring rapids, I fall out and slowly drown from what has a hold of me
I don’t know what else to do but self medicate
Its another thing I use, a crutch
When I can’t stand by myself and don’t reach out to anyone else
I’ve lost my mind, I tell everyone I’m fine
I’m always thinking of a line whether it be drugs or a rhyme
I’m not kind on the come down and I hate my entire being when I’m rude to my mom
If I were to have a clone I’d beat the **** out of myself and tell her what’s really wrong
She makes sure I have what I need especially when I wretch my sadness all over the floor
She never shuts the door in my face when I need a place, without her I would be misplaced
One night she was shrieking and it doesn’t matter that she was drinking
The feelings were in the air, they were something tangible that I could grasp without being an ***
I saw sadness, rejection, neglect, frustration, anger although it’s a secondary emotion and that’s what she uses to mask her raw emotions
I saw hatred, not for me, but the addict inside me
She’s the only one who doesn’t call me crazy, she lays in bed with me when I feel like I’m not in control
She does breathing exercises with me when I really just want to fall
I make a lot of commotion and she still loves me as her son
I am all of the above when on drugs, my heart still hurts but I’m full on love
My family and friends have been pouring it into me and that’s the only thing keeping me going
I’ve said it once, but I’ll say it again, without the love there’s no reason to be alive.
Without the love, it’s failure to thrive.
Without the love, I won’t survive.

There's a hole deep down inside of me
That cannot be filled
No matter how hard I try
Self medicating only makes the bottom deeper

This hole is much like a black hole
It will **** everything good that seems to come close inside
to never be seen again

Afraid to see what is down at the bottom of the hole
Afraid that it will be forever there
I search for something more
Something to fill it in with
Spiritual rituals become dull
And life leaves me complacent
Searching searching searching

Hoping that some day the hole will soon be filled again
That a smile will be across my face unforced
Searching searching searching to fill this deep deep dark hole inside of me.

I grow up in a generation of people using self medication to numb problems they make up in their head. So your parents didn't tuck you into bed and the food was shoddy when you were fed.
Comparing problems as if to win the ultimate prize of a future full of demise? Open your eyes and watch the sunrise, you are not the only one fighting, for we grow up in a generation of people self medicating. Lock arms with me to fight this mental war, reap the surprise of happiness, that's what you'll have in store.

I often wonder who you would be
if you never got cancer in high school
and you didn’t get addicted to pain pills
—if your mom never left  
when you were in desperate need of a parent
and you got help instead of radio silence
from the people that were supposed to protect you

I often wonder who you would be
if you never tried ******* or molly
and you took your meds
instead of self medicating
—if your friends knew how to love you
in ways that didn’t include
encouraging your addiction

I often wonder who you would be
if you started going to therapy
and accepted help for the first time in your life
so you could see that none of this
has ever been your fault

I often wonder who you would be
if you never locked me out
and you opened up instead
—if you accepted that you can’t do this all alone
would you be the person I know you could be
will you ever heal or will your addiction
take your life like it took your mom
and everything else
that was supposed to protect you

i do remember the scorn your encountered by the next of kin, for not having memorised the alphabet, to some stupid degree of accuracy, fetish of the french i call it... why not put all the vowels first and all the consonants after? so why care for the diabolical aristocratic monopoly on these symbols, having to cite a, b, c, d, e, f, g... rather than a, e, i, o, u, b, c? idiots! or should i say... ***** *******?*

i see friendship as a two tier system,
a friend allows you
to forget your reflective nature,
spelled out in the affirmative (
not compounded): your self...
but allows you the medium
they know you by, in a sense
the reflexive nature, spelled out
in affirmation: yourself.
the reflective nature of things stands
in unison with all the things
required: photosynthesis for example...
god still remains a complexity of language,
or how far language can complicate
matters so that no horrid activity can
fester... god is a word presiding over
the complication of the expression
of language, everything else is dumb-struck
deity orientation where we can laze
for an eternity: drunk, or gluttonous
or otherwise... but find me a drunkard who
composes on the additive? how many
drunk and therefore violent fathers
have crossed the threshold with drink
but wrote no single poem by medicating
on alcohol as an active sedative?
and how many partied on other drugs?
and dumb things drinking, while
the legislators caste in shadow of neither
vishnu blue, scandinavian bleach
hair and ivory skin or the african with
chocolate and auburn and short tailing-off
of curls turned to scorched frizzle of afro...
where among them the true identity of legislators?
nowhere... the masked identity to involve
a hidden tidal wave of the many,
later disrupted by a collective-consciousness
that democracy is, preceding jung's theory
of the collective-unconscious,
democracy is not carl jung... but it's its chiral
composite pair...
so friendship is the allowance of the self in reflex
akin to knee jerking or heart peeping into
rhythms escaping a finality / banality of
the measure of stone of standing still...
there is no friendship when the self disengages
from its reflexive naturalisation into social
circumstance (spelled yourself),
and engages in the reflective naturalisation
into anti-social circumstance of
body tiniest like among jupiter moon alaska
and all other shares of size (spelled your self)...
so then the inverse numerology:
C, one hundred... there is no T unless it be
the time concerned suffering on a crucifix...
but then there's the XI... eleven...
turn numerology on its head...
peer into something abstract associated
with the twinning of words, words twinned
to a bare minimum... so akin in misguided
uses as to appear so akin as to be readily
misused, upon the matter of twinned-pronunciation
without a necessary dichotomy that's already
there, for the optics dare not like,
but the tongue makes a porridge of the sound
then usurps the twinned sounds to opposing
spelling that the optics finds appealing.

Don't come over.
I've gone into Psychosis & shan't wake up.
I don't how long I'll be
But it is not your face I want to think of.
I swear this is not game nor reverse psychology!
As I shout hysterically at the moon
Who betrayed the sun for its perpetuating fear of noir.
A shadow will write a prescription for all to be well.
I'll take it twice a day, medicating this soul
rambling to be let out of its cage.

i am trying to convince myself that i don't love you any more [sent]  
                    
but right now, it's so quiet and I just want to inject the painful silence with your medicating voice [deleted]    

the imprints you left on my memory foam are as deep as memories themselves [deleted]

but they're fading quickly like the way your scent, which once clung to my bedsheets, tangled with the wind, leaving my bedsheets smelling like just bedsheets again [deleted]    

i wish memories and attachment faded as quickly as foam indentions or your fragrance or even you [deleted]

you faded off too quickly [deleted]

i never knew love and hurt could be embodied by a single person [deleted]

but you were compassion and pain and healing and suffering and everything in between heaven and hell [deleted]                                

and i guess, i would not make a great lawyer because i **** at convincing even myself that i don't love you any more  [deleted]

I don't do things for no reason, there's a reason for every action. I dislike when others make excuses when they know the consequences and repercussions for their actions.
Ppl know why they cheat why say I love you if you are going to ***** that person over
They also know when they lie the worse I'd when they are caught in a lie and continue to do so
Don't care for hypocrites don't say your not going to do something and go doing it
Drugs are for the weak medicating yourself to escape reality truth is you made it that way
Ppl who drink the liquid courage to run your mouth drunk only if you had a spine to say it sober maybe I'd respect you.
You think as ppl get older they would know right and wrong the worse is when they ***** up and have the nerve to blame others for their faults.

Take that pill to keep your promise.

Self medicating, mind exploding.

This is not all that is left.

Take that pill to forget.

Self medicating, mind numbing.

This is all that is left.

I’m writing this in between
Stints of self-medicating
When the memories scream the loudest
When the heartache feels the deepest

This feeling it feels bottomless
An unfathomably hollow emptiness
A deep dark abyss
From which I can’t escape

Let me start by saying
That I feel like a ***** up
A self-destructive *******
You were the only one that kept me grounded

My heart’s beating too fast write now
Even though I know you’ll never see this
I have an uncontrollable angst
You kept me sane in this crazy ****** up world

You were my best friend
You know everything about me
Even my ****** up daddy stories
The ones I don’t tell anyone about

We almost had a kid together
It was the most terrifying moment of my life
And I still haven’t told anyone about it
‘Cause I thought I’d have you to hold me during the nightmares

But I’m a complete **** up
(Nothing good ever stays with me)
Not my father, not you
Yeah, everything I touch turns to ****

“Light up till the pain gone”
Now I’m quoting rap songs
But I’m inconsolable and it’s true
I haven’t come down since you left me

I wish you could’ve seen the pain in my eyes
I wish you could’ve heard my cry for help
Every time I drank myself into oblivion
All I needed was for you to take it all away

I wanted you to fight for us
To put your beautiful pride down
For just one second and to realize
That I would go to the ends of the universe
                                                        ­                                 for you

I would've swept my self-numbing aside
Not for you but for us
I believed in us and all we were
But I was for us and you were for you

These past few weeks
We haven’t spoken a word
So the dreams keep getting longer
And the aching keeps on aching

I keep telling friends funny stories
My best memories throughout recent years
And all of them include you
My best memories are with you

I realize you don’t want anything to do with me
But I hope you at least look back and smile
I pray that you cherish our memories
..
Please don’t throw our love out of your consciousness completely.

Love,
L

Hiding in your bed
Try your tired old mantra
Your affirmation

But it's just talk, talk, talk
and if you stay or go
it's just luck, luck, luck
and I don't know if I give a ****

cuz it's a **** show
and I'm the star, self-medicating

And I'll play the fool because everything's fine
I know it's not real, it's just in my head

Burn it all out
'neath your veil
drink your party all down
blood drains to pale, pale, pale
from my self-medicating

Bells sound alarm
Crossing our hearts
against the dark

Chemicals are all awry
So don't despair
there's nothing there

Intuition
Or just anxious fears?
Guess it all depends on
what you want to hear

I see the same hope in each person
Painting faces and holding hands
Lying through false teeth
We’re a breed of actors
So encased in your cravings
Your heart will forget to beat
A momentary lapse of routine
And you’ll fight to regain your senses
In the back of your head
You all want the emptiness to win
Because we’re just passing time
Feeding insecurities
Until it’s over
Maybe I’m selfish
Maybe I’m weak
But it's a primal ache
So close but off limits
You all try but I won’t break
You raise this child just to **** it
Ink fills my pores
Forcing me to remember
Your guilty words and painful lectures
Forgetting expression
Brief interactions with perfection
Isolation
Sinking back into a life I’ve lived before
Swiftly slipping into old footprints
I’m not mental
I’m just sick of feeling
But don’t quite give up dear
Because for now I’m still here
At least for tonight
I will sleep by your side
Ill keep on pretending
And you can keep praying
That maybe some day I’ll turn out all right
It becomes more of an instinct as time goes on
Less of a mask
More comfortable than the truth
My palms sweat
And I begin to forget
What brought me here in the first place?
Words are lost to me
I know I have thought
I don’t know what they mean
I need to run but you’re holding my face
Holding me here for as long as you need
I want to be cut open
I want you to see me bleed
You kiss me with amnesia and leave without a trace
I cover my fears with ideas and stories
I want you to notice but you ******* ignore me
That’s why we’re addicted
Medicating our lives
With make believe and lies
Who’s the director?
The church or the people?
Lets hold each other
As the flames climb the steeple

Don’t be that girl
But I already am
And I’ve done a lot of damage
With my own two hands
And I guess it’s hard to tell
But I know it’s easy to see
That every version I give
Is a different side of me
But I keep my mouth shut
The way I’m told I should
And I bite back my answer
When they say it’s all good
And I fold myself up
Let my face say it all
Denying your assumptions
Even when they’re not wrong
Because I really don’t care enough
To keep playing games
And I’m kind of ******* tired
Of people screaming my name
And I’m more than my body
Or “you’re cool it’s just that”
Or how every time I ignore a guy
He responds with “oh well you’re fat”
And I’m sick of second guessing
And being the next choice
Sick of being crossed off the list
Sick of not using my voice
I’m sick of the noise
Screaming constant in my head
Sick of wishing for more, or worse
Wishing I was dead
I’m sick of wanting
Because that **** never works
And I’m sick of not feeling
Because even that ******* hurts
And I’m always the one
But somehow never ******* enough
Unless we’re just *******
But hey, it might be love
Right?
What a ******* joke
So funny I keep laughing
And I keep medicating
As if it’s not a bad thing
But ******* it I’m tired
******* over being this
Because this is never chosen
And I’m just constantly ******
So let it be silent
For even a second of peace
Before I really lose my ****
And forget how to breathe
Because I’m that ******* girl
And I always have been
And I’ll drag your *** with me
When I’m in hell for my sins.

Home on a Wednesday composing a ballad,
Lonely for snark and simile,
Caught in a funk, not up to this challenge,
Wish I was 18 watching MTV.

Videos would come in a plethora of color,
Medicating me in the dark,
Big hair travelogues, a jungle of ruffles,
Frivolous pyrotechnic sparks.

A zombie, a nurse, a dance hall girl,
A star if you are what you watch,
A fishnet and lace princess in training
With no time for verbal hopscotch.

Purple.



The colour

of bruised knees

(pain)

and lips begging

for oxygen

(breathlessness).



A hue

caught somewhere

between blue and red

(two extremes).



Blue for misery,

brokenness

(frigid, the tundra),

blue like the ocean

(drowning, an ode

to Ophelia).



Red for anger,

passion

(burning, the inferno),

red like flame

(gasoline for blood,

playing hide and seek

with embers).



Ultraviolet radiance

(blinding, turn your eyes away

the Purple).

Vibrant

(well, not so vibrant)

yet dark

(sometimes, too dark).



Soft

(just as the lilac

blossom is)

but harsh

(the bee that devours

the blossom's nectar).



China Doll complexion

(rosy cheeks,

skin the colour of moon dust)

paralleled against whirling eyes,

surging pools of burst blood vessels

and flared veins

(dear god, the Madness!)



Poetry personified--

counting syllables

instead of counting sheep

(a spoonful of codeine

to wash down the tears).

Words engraved into flesh

(wearing sadness like it's

crushed velvet--lovely);

these ink-stained wrists

(or is that blood?)



Empty band-aid boxes

(the scars still ache

whenever it rains)

and empty liquor bottles

(enamel eroding,

mouth swimming in froth).



Fearful of the night,

for the night will 

surely bring the mourning

(A seer-- forever dreading

"tomorrow").

Self-medicating with

Antihistamines and Tequilla

(Witch Doctor,

burned at the stake

in another life).



Dreaming in pastels

(when the insomnia

permits it)

but existing in a

grey-scale reality

(inhaling this pain

like it's cigarette smoke).



"A penny for your thoughts?"

(Haven't you forgotten?

They've stopped making pennies

because this world no longer

has any use for them).



A reflection in the mirror

(glass shatters,

pupils collapse in on themselves).

 ̶B̶e̶a̶u̶t̶i̶f̶u̶l̶

(Please,

take away this body!)



"I love you..."

(unrequited,

not pretty enough

to be touched).

A serenade for him(s)

(rejected letters,

"maybe we should 

just be friends").



Eternal

p

l

u

m

m

e

t

t

(wind knocked from lungs,

soul plucked from body).

Lips shatter as 

the kiss the cement

(step on a crack

break your mother's 

back).



Mother,

who named her child

jade

for the gemstone

nephrite

( ̶p̶r̶e̶c̶i̶o̶u̶s̶),

for the green,

Mother Nature's

chromatic blush

(wilting dandelions,

forsaken wishes).



Green.



(green?)



It's a colour that

never quite suited

a girl like me--

a girl with a purple soul.

Dropped calls and now you have ten voicemails
Garbled cries of "please pick up" and "what did i do"

Self-medicating, intoxicating
Then I'm bleeding profusely and it covers my tattoo,
the same one that she got too

An angel comes
And cries for me, stopping me in my tracks
I tell her it wasn't a matter of what, but who

The angel and I are bonded
I can feel my heart release once again
Until I find myself self-medicating again

"We never needed you"

Pavement beneath me rising
To consume my tears and stain my feet
How did I get here? I was supposed to stop at the tracks

I thought she was an angel but when she turns her back
I can't find wings

"You're just a burden"

drowning, no calls dropped this time
no messages, no well wishes
I won't have anyone to save me next time

I made it so far
But then I got to the beach and craved
Insanity.
From there to the end
My natural getting-home-from-work reaction was to
Crack open a beer
I think I felt like at that point
The fumes knew me better than you did,
And for them at least I didn’t have to
Explain myself.
I ****** up enough meals that I gave the cooking duties
To you.
Maybe if you pay attention to the stove you won’t look at my face not looking at you
Not knowing what to do,
How many times I avoided eye contact
Always trying to find something to point out
So it looked like I at least had some sort of reason
Just covering up the treason
That I probably should’ve felt bad for.
Feeling bad and feeling paranoid
Are not the same thing
And I only felt one of the two.
Flat beer
Old wine
Lukewarm liquor
I never knew a sink full of ***** dishes could spark such a fire
Scars left from burns can still feel phantom warmth.
The smell of burning butter
Not even a diet change could fix what was going wrong
A suggestion made for “health reasons”
You’ll never know what I was patching up.
I never knew how much hope could be contained
In eight ounces of soybean mush.
Now I’m back to where I was before
Only sometimes self-medicating to the point of remembering what it’s like
To not remember
But never sad to remember
What it’s like to wake up next to her.

people who use their religion to work 'miracles'
on the bodies
and end up dying
do not understand the reason why we have science.
science is for the body, the world, building and medicating
religion should not be applied to any of those things
religion is the medication of the mind and heart
it is the cure for the soul,
the formula for mental stability
the chemical balance of self-control
it is not a treatment for cancer, polio, or ***
it is a treatment for sadness, hatred, and confusion
both religion and science are:
correct when used correctly
lethal when used inappropriately
violent when misconstrued.
science can damage the soul like nothing else
and religion can destroy the body
they are both useful and good in their own right,
but terribly, terribly dangerous
and should be treated as such.

today is a go to the docs day
pick up your prescription

pills yes, that kind of work
ah, but the drive along the coast

now that is all part and parcel
of your medicine,