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Steele Mar 2015
Blades of smoke pass through my hair,
Cutting; oxidising; as the smoke is slowly rising
through the tower of my power as I vainly gasp for air.

Cyanide, it seems, can comfort me a while,
as I'm breathing; screaming and repeating
smoky words into the floor's mute bathroom tile.

But my power is all gone; all wrong.
Oxidise: Cyanide.
Once more into my lungs.
I've been quitting about a month now, and **** is it hard. It shouldn't still be this hard, right? Jesus.
pat caldecott  Jun 2011
Cyanide
pat caldecott Jun 2011
Once again I return to feel the hurt the pain
Addicted to your cyanide
That’s driving me insane

Ride upon this sickening ride surf upon its tide
Feel it rotting out my brain
You are my cyanide

As a child upon the bed I’d think to stop the chain
Small doses of your cyanide
Were coursing in my vein

I didn’t know and so I ate whatever you’d provide
Given the things that you’d obtain
The bitter cyanide

Only poison in your heart things that you’d been fed
Force fed on the cyanide
Lead me where your led
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2019
no one tells her that those candy-colored pills are not chocolate
that no matter how many she stuffs she'll never be full,
nor will she be entirely empty.

though they taste so sweet
they will rot your teeth
and their effects shall be engraved in your skull

that candy apple cyanide
so hard to resist
so hard to not take a bite

no one tells the ugly girl with a mouth full of tombstones
that she gleefully presents for show and tell
that she too needs to eat, to keep it down

though the dissolving graves
withing her smile
tell a saddening tale

that candy apple cyanide
so hard to resist
so hard to not take a bite

no one tells her that her mind and mirror are distorting
morphing the person she truly is
into the person she hates to be

though her measurements are static
her body seems to inflate
like balloons at parties she avoided

that candy apple cyanide
so hard to resist
so hard to not that a bite

no one tells her that average isn't too heavy
that she can be loved and called beautiful at 120
and that she can love herself too

though she's grown accustomed
to the taste of acid and ice cream
and no sees no need for stopping

that candy apple cyanide
so hard to resist
so hard to not that a bite

no one tells the girl that she's wasting away her body
no one warned her of all the pain

no one warned her that her illnesses would always stay
flush those pills
let those apples rot
let your garden flourish
in the poison
you haven’t yet forgot
Don't knock what you've never tried
Lock box with a heart inside
Six shots from a forty five
Punk rock makes you come alive

Black-hawks in the clear blue sky
It's ad hoc but you can just get by
On Poprocks and cyanide
Tick-tock time to decide

What made you think that you could take me down?
The method's flawed, but the strategies sound.
What made you try to hold me back?
I hope you're ready for the counter-attack.

Backhand and you feel the heat
Grandstand 'till you take a seat
Kickstand just to keep your feet
Firsthand watch you admit defeat
SabreLi Dec 2016
They tell me it’s the lesser of two evils
But I’m not sure that’s a fact
Sometimes I think it’s best to leave you to your demons
They’ve got you this far in tact

Either way I can’t stop the progression
This deadly routine’s for your own protection
There are no winners here, there’s far too much at stake
Do I stand by and let them feed you to the rattlesnake?
When I know it’s eating you up inside
Like a private supply of cyanide

Going, going, gone
I see you today but who knows where you’ll be tomorrow
Going, going, gone
Slipping through my fingers to a place that I can’t follow
Going, going, gone
Your own private cyanide’s a bitter pill to swallow
Going, going, gone

I know there’ll be times that you will disagree
But just between you and me
When they tell us over again that two’s company
I feel like we are three

But they don’t matter, all my objections
This deadly routine‘s become your obsession
There are no winners here, there’s far too much at stake
Do I stand by and let them feed you to the rattlesnake?
And I know it's killing you from inside
Like a private supply of cyanide

Going, going, gone
I see you today but who knows where you’ll be tomorrow
Going, going, gone
Slipping through my fingers to a place that I can’t follow
Going, going, gone
Your own private cyanide’s a bitter pill to swallow
Going, going, gone

Every day I see you drift further away
And there’s only so much I can pray
I feel like I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place
Soon you’ll disappear without a trace

Going, going, gone

Copyright © 2016-2017 KF
Another one written with multiple interpretations is mind, but mostly about someone suffering from ill mental health whose medication changes them so much they are not the same person any more. Is the cost too great; to sacrifice your self for a few moments of 'normality' when we don't even know what that is?
Nicole  Dec 2011
cyanide
Nicole Dec 2011
I drank the cyanide tonight
I was tired of it all.
I drank the whole thing
And to the floor I did fall.

I remember now
As I lay here in a coma
Why I took the first sip.
It's your fault.
I was going down
And you sat by,
Watched me slip.

As I lay here dying
I feel the anger swell
Why didn't you try to save me?
You know what I feel

But even as I die
I somehow find it in me to forgive
I'm crying inside
I change my mind!
I want to live!

Guess it's too late now.
Seems everyone has given up on me
Why did I take that drink?
Why was death my dream?

I'll never know,
It's too late now.
I'm taking my
Last faint breath

I'm sorry mom
I'm sorry dad
And bro, I'm so sorry
I'm leavin' you

Dear family
Dear friends
And everyone else who cared
I'm sorry I had to go

I did what I always did best
But don't worry
It's all over
I made my final mistake.

I drank the cyanide tonight
I was tired of it all.
I drank the whole thing
And to the floor I did fall.
Sam Hammond Nov 2018
Deep inside, and petrified,
Within my soul is cyanide,
Sitting, waiting patiently
For chances to escape from me.
For this reason it seems decent,
Fit to logic, moral reason,
That I keep my soul contained
And every single part arranged
Behind a face I've froze in place.
Dull of sense, of thought, of taste.
Trapped inside is where resides
My awful soul of cyanide.
Nico Reznick Jan 2017
There are no right answers.
The sky rejects the birds, turns them
over to gravity,
embedding them in the concrete and dirt.
The grit refuses to become a pearl,
just as the wound refuses to heal
and the flesh eats itself.
The market sees a sudden spike in
sales of Champagne and cyanide.
Coordinated efforts seek and fail
to curtail the rising tide of violence
in the nation's dreaming.
You realise that this crude, barbaric language
that you can't understand
is your own.
Beauty glitches and pixelates.
Frightened, furtive confessions of love
are unheard over proud, visceral
proclamations of hate.
Tongues divorce mouths.
Every now and then, a voice
inside your head says,
'Thud.'
The measures of sanity become
more quantifiable and
totally arbitrary.
The horizon
tightens
like
a noose.

It doesn't matter if this is wrong.
There are no right answers.
Spoken Word Video: https://youtu.be/wGxRvuMWCig
Lexander J Apr 2015
From within a blackened heart
spawns madnesses twisted Invictus,
a severed head sat atop a plinth, filled
with decaying thoughts of cyanide and citrus,

completely crazy, inverted, perverted,
infected with an insanity that dances from the eyes -
pouting lips tempestuous and alluring
from the tip of a tongue he sews insidious lies,

roosting upon the bleeding emotions of others
a vile disassociation sanity can't pertain,
charred lips from suckling the ******* of Hell
the back-broke miracle nature refuses to explain,

exhaling noxious fumes, a pyro-manic incense,
one soul re-arranged, deranged and blisteringly intense;

so much so, it disgusts me beyond words -

so kick the rotten apple,

watch the maggots writhe within thou sour curds.
lowercasemmmmmm Jul 2014
some people need to be wanted
while other want to be needed,
most of the time the signs are read
other times they go unheeded,
count their pain on your fingers
count the rope burns of a ligatures tale,
this train ride has faiths knuckles white
this life erodes mind and patience,

and that's the truss of the chosen narcotic
that's the sling that holds the lame arm of poison,
that's the bitter taste of a nectar once so sweet
the lachrymose slow imbibe of cyanide,
its whisper is a cloud like betrayal
soft in its ignorance to your unwavering slide,
you'll die for the thing that hates you the most
wink a mercurial eye, the slow imbibe of cyanide,
Meditating in the carnage,
my core's cyanide became
warm milk before bed. My carcass
coexisted in inconsistent comfort, that
safety untouched like internal feelings.
Unstable caramelized eyes watered down to a
wary hazelnut from lack of love, the way the
phone screen glows white to gray at 4 AM.
Aching in agony; I haven't found a person
to care for the poison within me-
I love using metaphors, similes, etc for poems.... This one took an odd turn...
All feedback is welcome!
rained-on parade Jan 2014
More than love,
sometimes it is
the fear of being alone.
Because loneliness
creates a haunting echo
of our silence.

Isn't that why
we seek broken things,
and broken men?

So that we
fix instead of break
at least for once.

So that we
leave our signatures
in the loosely filled
cracks and scars.

So that they
cannot recall life
but after we set
their hearts beating again.

So that every time
they take their clothes off,
they can see us
sewed to their skin.

And be proud
to call it ours.

— The End —