Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
The Dybbuk May 29
Round, frame-less glasses.
To you, I may appear an artist.
But they are merely glass.
The Dybbuk May 24
1.5 grams of marijuana, 30 mL of cough syrup, half a bowl of cereal, and an iron supplement.
Then I throw up blood into a toilet, shave, and put on a pair of flip flops.
I don't bother changing pants, so I just grab a different shirt, throw on some deodorant, and smoke another joint.
I get in the car.
I take a deep, shaky breath.
And drive away.
This was my morning.
The Dybbuk Apr 22
I almost forgot what it felt like.
You see, I avoid coming home as much as I can,
but there's always the blue moon. There's nowhere else to go sometimes.
And this time it happened.
The conversation about how my day was, boring details and all.
And the sounds of crickets, gently chirping in the woods.
The warm light of the chandelier.
A word flits across the dinner table and into the air, and there is sudden silence.
Everyone knows it was a mistake, innocent.
But  I sit at the dinner table and say nothing,
One part glad that it isn't me and one part guilty for the other.
I pretend I can't hear screaming.
I pretend that there isn't this feeling,
I had almost forgotten,
Squatting on the mashed potatoes.
It stares me in the face and whispers through the crackling in the air.
It speaks louder as my little sister says,
"Pass the salt."
It laughs at the irony,
and the illusion of safety sits,
split cleanly in half on the floor,
while the dog, oblivious, licks up the scraps.
The Dybbuk Apr 11
I am the words of scorn on a child's lips,
for a sleepy, fetid home.

I am ingratitude, and spilt milk.
I am the frozen boxer, the burnt lightbulb.

I am the sickly mirror,
who peers into an illusion of identity.

I am pain, and nerve.
I am the one who waits.
The Dybbuk Mar 14
A floating point value,
Of a test score four-years-old,
Can float away your dreams,
And leave you homeless in the cold.
A floating point value,
Defines the friend's we've built,
Watch them steal the you you were,
And drown in a night of guilt.
A floating point value,
Separates you year from year,
Defines your rights, your days and nights,
Your every sip of beer.
A floating point value,
Separating me from you.
Close your eyes, count to five,
And wake up someone new.
A poem on how numbers define us
The Dybbuk Jan 13
It's hard to live without *******,
Tied to powder by a chain.
"Help," I say, but no one knows:
I'm bleeding lifeblood from my nose.

It's hard to live without some *****,
Liqueur up and start to cruise.
"I want to die." I flip a penny,
Rev the car and hit one-twenty.

It's hard to live without some shrooms,
I liked my life as a cartoon.
"I'm broken inside," I tell my friends,
They laugh along, the world bends.

It's hard to live without some ****,
It helps to balance out the speed,
"I'm in danger," no one cares,
Buried under thoughts and prayers.

It's hard to live with conscious mind,
I need poison, make me blind.
Roll me, smoke me, snort me up,
Pipe, spoon, ****, or cup.
It's two weeks sober tomorrow.
The Dybbuk Dec 2018
The moon breaks,
My head aches,
She pulls a gun,
To raise the stakes.
She holds me close,
She turns her nose,
She reaches out,
And time slows.
There is no fear,
Her lips are here,
I kiss her back,
and disappear.
She steps in,
For searing skin,
I cut her off,
it could have been.
But I know dumb and I know love,
I know her and the pain thereof,
We wanted each other for a moment there,
but I can't have another affair.
Next page