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Look up, I force my gaze up
I face that unwanted reflection
The hated man, the other half
Still addicted, Dependent on ****
The realization hits again
That I and Him, The same man
Night and Day difference
Pros and Cons I weigh
His motivation beats me to it
It is a sickness and I am sick
Of it of not wanting only to want again
Of being unable to manage
Everyday tasks and hobbies I loved
Creativity seems to visit
When it’s the good ****…
Again, That man before me now
******* this ******* mirror
He knows how badly I hate him,
He feels no where near the same
Content with his poison
But I can see it in his eyes,
He knows that it isn’t right
Will he help me quit this time?
No one looks at me the way she does
Her eyes stares into my soul
The glares makes me feel the unknown
Forbidden love that feels so real

Its like both just know
We can be so bad for each other if together
Yet we both just strive to bring out the best in the other

Sharing the same weaknesses
Going through the same difficulties
We are our own addiction
Motivation to stay clean is the love for each other

We are just two **** junkies trying to stay clean
Our love for our drug should pull us apart
Yet it makes us cling to each other in the hope recovery will last

I don't know how sane this is
But it works for us currently
Everything in this moment is exactly how its suppose to be..
My love poems are about drugs
My drug poems are about love
And I never write about cats
 Jul 2014 Becky Littmann
Daniela
I can finally recall the exact moment I lost myself*.
It all began when I started placing your opinion higher on the scale than what I believed of myself.

All this time I've been a deer caught in the headlights,
it's funny how you can grow used to pretty much anything.

Everything has changed now,
You no longer make me feel proud about myself, but ashamed.
I feel like my own self is starting to fade away into this new type of girls you're hitting on day by day.

You've changed your standards and so you changed me as well.
You replaced my vans and mess, with a girl in a pink dress.

And though you are the one, who left me behind,
the shock of my evolving has got you judging me all over.

Forgive me for I'm not the girl you put your faith on last summer,
a broken promise and a stare of disappointment is all thats left of us.
Scribbling as listening to Mumford and Sons.
Back on track!!
My fascination of words come from a deep place…
Shards of broken hopelessness,
Discarded in pieces, through metaphors
Seeking life within the lines of poetry.
Wanting to creep out of my soul,
From my veins through my fingertips…

I write for me.
My words are not for humanity…
There won’t be any prophesies scrawled across cave walls
Only fragments of my being,
Refracted in the images I paint on paper,
Printed in blood ink.

My words are release.
There are no pictographs or,
Phenomenon discoveries,
Veiled in my assortment of letters,
Etched in my broken rib cage of fragility…
Printed only out of desperation.

My fascination with words is contingent...
I put in bulks of fleshy bits of insanity,
And I secrete emotions,
Ravaged by war,
Because for some reason,
Pain is equivalent to beauty.

Sometime my words become selfish.
They bombard my mental cavity,
Asking so much of me,
I have to stop in the middle of the street
And write thoughts down
before I lose them.

My words consume me.
I think differently,
I feel differently.
Every sense is heightened in this state.
I lose myself in the worlds I create.
My words are my only escape.
I write because I have to basically. My words save me.Who am i without it? Who are you?
Money is not everything.
But life’s a struggle when you can’t afford a thing.
Life’s difficult,
when money’s not in your reach.
It’s as if it floats by on a leash,
with its ‘owner’ behind.
You stretch out the hand which has gotten so tired of stretching,
to touch it,
to feel it,
to hold it ..
Even if it’s just for a minute.
But as it’s about to land,
it gently flows off to another man;
whether to the doctor,
teacher,
the mechanic,
or the fisher woman.
Life’s hell when you don’t have it.
It’s hell when your hand is at your jaw,
and the other scratches your head like a dog’s paw.
It’s he’ll when you worry about your other meal,
because the fridge is empty.
There’s not even an orange seed.
It’s hell,
when you have to think about the light being gone,
the water being gone
and the internet being gone.
It’s hell when the amount of money left can be counted on your finger,
which means it’s a number: one digit – one figure.
It’s hell when you worry about the kids and what they think.
It’s hell when you have to borrow as if there’s no tomorrow,
borrow so much, it seems as if there’s a hole in your hand –
one the size of a rabbit’s burrow.
Mostly it’s hell when your throat gets hoarse from calling out to God for so long,
when you deprive yourself from food for so long ..
But still, no response.
It’s as if God’s saying:
*“Be still my child, that’s where you belong.”
 Jun 2014 Becky Littmann
Baylee
As I look around me,
The room is filling with smoke,
There are people drinking, smoking,
And people snorting coke.
I guess you could say,
I ended up in the "wrong crowd" of people,
There's a banging on the door, "police, open up",
And someone looks out the peephole.
There's a cop in the doorway,
6 foot 2, brown hair, and semi-large ears,
We all scramble and scream,
"**** there's no way we're all getting out of here".
This will be fun to explain,
To my parents who thought I was studying,
"I was testing the effects of drugs,
It was ******* that I was snorting".
Come on, this isn't fair,
None of you understand me,
Lock me away in jail,
So I can plead "insanity".
I need mental help,
From a psych ward or something,
I'm willing to go, or you can baker act me,
It'd be better than doing nothing.
I am lost:
My mind scattered
In endless constellations above me.

As dreams infuse with reality
And thoughts diffuse into insanity
I realize:
To be insane is to see the infinite.
I woke in the tired bitter morning,
Lying in dew laden grass,
Muscles aching,
Throat dry,
And lips cracked,
We're beautiful but unseen,
Beating out our own sanity,
The walls we built are sculpted in ice,
Ice castles, buried. Blurry.
Clutching at anything our pale, spidery hands can grasp,
Flushed free of hope,
Chalky eyelashes,
Fluttering,
Sending shifts of snowflakes to the ground,
Like raining infinity,
*******.
Because it makes you feel lost of horror,
It's a mess, because we're curled up in confusion,
Skin like rain,
A disaster in hibernation,
I swear we are not lost,
Please, we are not lost.
Just wondering
Wondering and wandering
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