He’s staring into the grains, wondering how what she felt
for him could  have become even smaller than those little marks and flecks on the wood.

She’s staring at the screen, her face awash in the glow she now values more
than what he offers her.

And he’s pushing and squeezing on as hard as he knows…

But she sees him as the enemy, her Nemesis, the antithesis
of what she wants at this moment,
those moments,
moments to come,

Her happiness doesn’t come from him any longer.
His smiles, and words, and care, and love,
holding less real estate in her pretty little head
than dried sauce on a plate
or ***** socks
on the floor
by the door
he now stands behind staring at, wishing her face, aglow,
would be smiling on the other side.

Of all that stood by,
he alone
ran into the water, fully-clothed
on that cold February day,
to pull her (flailing wet-noodle limbs) from the water.

He alone
recognized she was not waving,
but drowning.
Coincidence they had recently
discovered that poem?

He’d heard once that Bob Dylan said something like,
“When someone is close to suicide, they don’t ask for help,
by sending family a letter in the mail.”

He’d heard,
many times before,
How dangerous it was to attempt such a thing,
but love muted those mnemonic memories,
replaced them with muscle memories
(the heart is a muscle)
and he flew, wind-like,
into the ocean.

Neither ever felt the earth under
their feet
again.

eyes are burning
lips are cracked
mind is reeling
body's smacked
falling further
down the hole
give me more
then take my soul

******* on all my perceptions
***** me over with one hit
but i choose this infection
threw myself into this pit
take away my memories
blinding all i see
replacing it with neediness
burying it deep inside of me

spit the poison in my mouth
just like i knew you would
i gladly swallow every drop
i've gotten really good
go ahead and **** on everything i'll never be
farewell to awareness and my sensibility

fingers twitching
eyes are squint
nose is dripping
latest stint
its getting harder to crawl
with these broken bones
while you're stripping me down
and you're throwing your stones

go ahead and **** whats left of my vision
this habit wont put up a fight
options seem lost to just one decision
one more fix to get through the night

now spit the poison in my mouth
its what i wanted too
i'll lick and **** up every drop
i can get out of you

liquid drips from my mouth
its such a ***** brown
and i smile when, temporarily
it lifts me off the ground

I would like a double-shot of espresso, please.

How would you like that, sir?

In a syringe, if you don't mind.

Coming right up.

the wait.

Would you like a tourniquet with that, sir?

No thanks. I've brought my own.

Enjoy.

~

After I'd found the vein, I stared into the syringe

Before plunging the needle in.

The beautiful brown...

I pressed the plunger ever so slightly and watched

As the drop slid down the shaft.

I thought to lick it - licked it.

Pricked my tongue.

However, it was of little consequence.

Any pain present within would be subsiding shortly.

In goes the needle;

Out go the lights.

Her hands shake.

She's terrified of this person she's become.

It was never meant to be this way.

One time,

she swore.

One more,

she promised again.

Once a month

once a week

once a day

whenever she got a chance.

She never thought she'd be this way.

An addict.

When did it happen?

Why did it happen?

How?

It started way back when,

when life was kicking her ***.

She was drowning,

couldn't keep her head above water.

She struggled.

Kicking and screaming,

she powered on.

Tried

so **** hard.

She made promises

to herself

her friends

her Savior.

She promised

she'd be ok.

She swore she wouldn't

fall victim

like so many before her.

But she's never been good

at keeping her promises.

(Never been good at much,

actually.)

One time

turned to

many

many

many

more.

That night

an addiction started.

And she hates herself for it.

Hates her friends

for never opening

their ******* eyes.

Hates one in particular

for never asking the questions

she should.

Hates another

that she loves

for leaving.

Because that's what it was.

Excuses for unreplied texts

missed calls.

Two months.

She left.

That's what happened.

(Deny it all you want,

but you know for a fact

you stopped caring

when I went batshit.

You know.)

Hates her parents

for pushing

so **** hard.

(Why?

Maybe if I

had actually felt like

the words you say

were true

I wouldn't be here.)

But mostly she hates herself

for succumbing to

an idea

a notion

that never should have been

entertained.

But she did.

Now she's failing at recovery.

Failing being herself.

Failing life in general.

Failing living.

Failing

falling.

Sinking into old habits.

Old addictions.

Her hands shake,

holding the weapon

in this war of self destruction.

It touches her skin,

and she shivers.

****.

She wishes she could stop,

that she could be ok.

But she can't.

So she steadies her hands.

Pull.

****!

Blood drips,

and her mind is gone.

Such is the life

of an addict.

I'm drowning and I can't find the surface
The more I fight to breathe the harder it is to do so
The more I struggle the closer I come to death
I try and I try to reach the surface to see the blue sky but the more I fight the further I sink
My life is being pulled from me
My soul ripped away
The more I snort the further I go
The more I shoot up the closer I am to death
The more I use the more I need
**** coke and pills are my life
I pushed the ones who loved me away
I don't see the pain I'm causing them
I look in her eyes and I don't see her pain
She knows I need help but I keep using
She sees my addiction but I cannot
She loves me but is letting me go
What is my excuse
Why do I continue to **** myself
So many whys
So many questions
What would I see
If I could see myself in someone else's eyes
Would I like the person staring back at me
Would I see a strung out addict
Would I see a lost soul
So I'll snort one more perk
I'll smoke some more **** and
I'll shoot up some more *******
Because now they control my life



(this poem is about I guy I used to date we remained friends and his addiction was the inspiration behind this poem. Drugs and other substance abuse can really take a lot away.)

smoke escaped from your parted lips,
intoxicating the room with its stench
and your hands shaking with the syringe,
aiming for a lesser bruised area in your arm;

"this is the last hit, I swear..."

before she had kicked you out,
you had stolen over a hundred-fifty dollars
from your very own mother's wallet
to fuel this cruel addiction of yours;

"I'm not addicted..."

just look at you:

rotten teeth like those of maybe a rat's,
face all wrinkled as though you're older than 16,
bits and pieces of your skin picked and dug deep,
and only some patches of hair remain.

"I won't be like her..."

no one else will be attracted to you
like she is, your drug dealer and girlfriend;
together you'll live in isolation somewhere,
with lack of sleep and a high dose of euphoria.

"the only harm being done is to myself..."

tell that to the cops as they bring a warrant
to search your current place of residency
and discover your kitchen for making more,

tell that to the cops as they drag you to jail
to force you into rehabilitation for help
and keep you there until you're all better.

Wake up one day and your head is bleeding,
You couldn't even see that your life's receding.
Never could have guessed all the emotions you'd be needing,
Can't catch the shadow, the silhouettes fleeting.

The bones in your body never broke this much,
The skin on your hands didn't crack as such.
You thought that you were strong, but you let it slip away,
The person that I knew was so much brighter then today.

The soul behind your eyes, it screams for something less
The only part of you that's not afraid to just confess.
I see the canyons on your face, the sorrow in your breath,
I know another answer and it isn't pain or death.

Balanced on the line between insanity and freedom,
You always want the highs, but you don't really need 'em.
Come out of the haze, love, come and hold my hand,
I know you lost your legs but I will help you stand.

If you need a replacement
I'm yours
If you need a new best friend
I'm yours
If you need a distraction
I'm yours
If you need an escape plan
I'm yours

I'm here when you have nothing better to do
I'm here when your worlds at its worst
If you need a cheap laugh, I'm your buddy.
Or a waste of you money, just call me

I'm your "better things to do" on your Saturday night
Than hang with your girl or your fam
I'm your "I'll be there later" and soon you'll forget
Cause you're lost in your own little land

When you're low on money, I'm splitting
When you're full of it I'm by your side
Which you won't cause your job you are quitting
You can't get up to get there on time

I'm your friend when you leave all your others
To hang out with me and get through
The **** that your life has been turned to
Who am I? Dear friend, I am you.

But
Who am I
If you are no longer
Yourself?

Addiction
We all have one
Crawling around in every dawn
Like the black swan has its color to hate
You have darkness you use as bait

Addiction, which one’s yours
The one you deny and excuse
Is it called love, is it called hate
Whatever will seal your fate

Look at your face in the broken mirror
Look for your eyes in every shard
Once you’re gone it’s for ever
You can’t go back from being scarred

Addiction, in reality it’s mere illusion
Nothingness you live to make real
Part of yourself that is confusion
The bet you lost when you made the deal

Pull out the dagger form your heart
Wipe the pain on your white sleeve
You know from what you grew apart
You forgot to love and learned to deceive

Addiction
The torturous friend now ennemy
The demon you were and now restrained
The prison from who you are now free
The tears from the black river now drained