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Tyler Nicholas Jan 2013
I pour myself
a glass of
Klonopin water
and chase it down
with a handle of
cheap *****
and a cigarette.

I move slowly
and stand in front
of my bathroom mirror
and watch my eyes
change from

and I ghostwalk
to the bottom
of my mind,
the venom slowly
filling my veins
and I dive deeper
into this hideous
"And someone will love it because it’s honest,
and someone will hate it because it’s crude"
D Eaf Jan 2018
Two extremes
Coffee and klonopin
Energetic and calm
The two things that keep me sane


Coffee and klonopin
A day in the life of panic disorder. The two things that keep me sane.
Anjana Rao Oct 2014
I've always talked to myself,
but these days
I feel stereotypically crazy
the "I should be locked up for my own good"
kind of crazy.

I don't know how long
I spent in my room
laughing until
there were tears in my eyes.
Twice I made a move
to leave the room,
twice I collapsed laughing.
I wondered if I was actually crying,
But no,
it was laughter.

because my god,
it's all so **** funny.

I counted my Klonopin today.
She told me to ration them.
I took four on one day
three on another,
if I skip a day or two,
I'll be able to take
four on a different day.

It makes sense in my head.

Without the Klonopin,
I'm angry again.
She asks if I'm thinking
about eating today,
"not really idc"
An "I care" response
only elicits
"Sorry about that,"
too much of a coward to say
"That's not my problem"
or better yet,
"*******, leave me alone,
go tend to your partner,
or datemate,
or whatever the ******* call them."

Maybe I don't really mean it,
but there's only
in my heart today.

I won't take the Klonopin today
so I can drink wine or a beer
or whatever is cheap.

It makes sense in my head,
as I continue to cackle to myself.

Who the ****
do you think you are,

It's all a joke to me.
I walk and walk and walk
and I buy a too sweet coffee,
instead of *****,
which I tell myself
I'll buy later.

I can behave,
if I'm in public,
only emitting
a tiny chuckle
from time to time.
Everyone here
is absorbed in their lives.
No one will know the difference.

It's all a joke to me.
After I wrote this poem I got ****** with a homeless man, make of that what you will.
they meet at hospital locked unit for torture victims undisclosed site no unauthorized access their condition experiences high risk public relations for war effort mainly patients seclude themselves in anxious solitude when not in anxious treatment they will remain under strict government surveillance until war is over at which time another administration will determine their resolve

she graduated from Stanford with Masters in 9 languages employed jointly by Hachette Livre and Random House Mondadori publishers United Nations attaché interpreter translator then Special Forces Black Ops

he graduated P.H.D. from M.I.T. in political military economic social information infrastructure systems tactical behavior strategy campaign employed by private security contractors consortium assigned to unidentified location

her captors splayed arms legs to table force fed 1 gallon ***** down throat 2 gallon enema without anesthesia sewed shut eyelids **** sphincter then starved rat inserted in ******

his captors blindfolded handcuffed victim prepare beheading live internet feed decide instead shackle him to wall douse gasoline ignite water hose scorching body 3rd degree burns then apply nail-gun through testicles ***** dowel to temporal lobe

act 1 scene 1

small unused visiting room 2 gray couches end table with lamp vase of plastic flowers

HE sits in wheelchair severe burn scars to face scalp body memory loss hoarse raspy voice stiff protracted body motion

SHE under continuous psychotherapy supervision patient suffers severe PTSD shaky submissive prescribed modified combinations of 13 medications (Prozac Adapin Vivactil Nardil Desyrel Wellbutrin BuSpar Klonopin Vistaril Neurontin Inderal Catapres Seroquel) administered twice daily

HE i brought you bacon strips in napkin from breakfast

SHE (eyelids flutter hands tremble) thank you but you keep it (pause) you know i used to be vegetarian

HE i know i look monstrous get over it there’s a real human being trapped inside this mutilated mess

SHE i i i can’t talk (pause) don’t know what to say (pause) after they sewed me up they ripped me apart shoved rodent to gnaw my insides (pause) skinned cooked made me eat it

HE you’re still alive aren’t you quit your whining show some gratitude stop being such a big baby

SHE how dare you ******* accuse me you’ve got you’re ****** **** nerve

HE i apologize please forgive me i’m not myself since the injuries i’m desperate for diversion pain management escape from excruciating pain nightmare thoughts i still endure

SHE who’s the big baby now

HE please help me overcome this consuming terror distract me with your loveliness please be my muse

SHE i’m no healer what do you mean be your muse

HE inspire me open yourself up to me arouse feelings beyond my suffering

SHE i’m useless look at me i’m a basket-case

HE spread your legs let me see

SHE what! you’re rude blunt disgusting

HE show me your cooch you got ***** hair?

SHE oh god you are so ****** creepy repulsive (pause) and I’m not a very hairy person

HE come on darling work with me stroke me relieve me

SHE i don’t even want to think or know about it go take care of it yourself

HE i’ve tried i can’t stay focused i see my disfigurement then get sidetracked i can’t get myself off

SHE all i am to you is a piece of *** you brutal *******

HE you could show a little tenderness maybe nurturing fix what’s broken give it up to me girl please i beg you let me do you or do me

SHE i was informed your ***** is shredded testicles disengaged

HE who told you that it’s a lie my ***** are maimed yet intact my **** still gets ***** granted it’s not a pretty sight keep your eyes shut

SHE (body twitches) you want power over me

HE ***** power i want some release i want you in control you in charge of my ******* please be my curing goddess

SHE (looks away) i don’t trust you

HE what’s not to trust i’m a pitiful casualty of war just like you we weren’t born like this but we’re both now doomed useless pathetic

SHE you could try being more polite civil congenial perhaps if we were friends first liked each other and you won my sympathies but you’re so forceful intrusive

HE war does that to a person

SHE please make an effort

HE you mean if i talk nice you’ll consider

SHE i will take it into consideration

HE i think you’re pretty more than just pretty beautiful

SHE i’m shattered damaged wrecked ruined

HE i see beauty in your face figure beauty in your words reactions

SHE i’m afraid to let anyone inside

HE i’ll be real gentle i promise

SHE i’m scared

HE yeah i’m scared too scared i’ll shoot blood instead of *****

SHE shut up

HE help me please find a way back to myself a way to accept love respect you

SHE hmmm uhhh since you phrase it that way i’ll think about it i’m not promising anything just considering (pause) ok? (pause) how would we go about doing this?

HE we used up our free time today they’ll be searching for you begin picturing in your mind how you would like it done imagine feeling loved protected

SHE (eyelids waver) help me learn slow how to do this dance

HE every step of the way

SHE thank you see you tomorrow
MRR Nov 2013
Suicidal tendencies, alleged attempt in 2011
(National Scholar-Athlete)
Bipolar with psychotic features, meds necessary
(President of student government)
Anti-social features, deceptive, manipulative, lying.
(Captain of varsity athletics)
Qualifies as a pickup. Forfeits all rights. Police involvement if necessary.
(President of an all-star rugby club)
Extreme aggression. Any homicidal idealization should be taken seriously.
(Trustee Scholarship to a renown private college)
Narcotics abuse. Marijuana, LSD, Klonopin, *******, Alcohol, Painkillers
(3.7 GPA)
Masks and shields intentions. Deceptive with professionals.
(Active volunteer)
I advise that he be admitted to a hospital immediately
(Participant in community)
Drug abuse counseling, medication, extensive therapy necessary
(Leader of peers)

Diagnoses fly like a panhandlers love affairs

Your inexact science is a disgrace to what I've created

A philosophy based on your experience

Ignoring the dynamic of the human condition

****** for feeling to much

****** for not feeling enough
Jack L Martin Sep 2018




I am hurting
on my knees
Can't afford
any of these!
Google: Top 50 Prescribed Drugs in the US
Shane Knubley  Nov 2013
Shane Knubley Nov 2013
grab that bottle of pills, prescribed to me
treating my crippling anxiety
open wide, two down the hatch
but there is a little catch
slowly killing me from the inside
sooner or later my brain will be fried
but on this medication I have to rely
otherwise I get afraid I may die
i get afraid of talking aloud, expressing myself
anything conceivable scares me to death
so i swallow them down day after day
otherwise i'll continue to just hide away
isolation and desolation
sad and scared feelings in manifestation
sitting down in a corner
afraid of the world
i know it's irrational
but why won't it stop?
it's only out to get me, step on me, hurt me
the pills want to help me, pull me up, help me flee
and that is why, when you continue to say
"they're progressively killing you, more and more each day"
as if i don't know that, i'm not that naive
to think that these magic pills that help me to breathe
only have pros and not any cons
thinking that they will do me no wrong
but if you were me, you'd do the same thing
it's excrutiatingly hard when you struggle to bring
yourself out of bed every single morning,
afraid of the daylight, you heed your own warning
afraid of everything imaginable
and so
whenever i struggle to get out of bed
i grab that bottle
and i open wide
and i throw two down the hatch
woelita Jan 2015
Your pink blush dissolves on my famished tongue.
You slip in me and I slip into another
cooler facade.
and the world falls into a deep slumber,
as I am seduced by my only lover
My careless lover.
But she makes my head spin and when she beckons me,
I open wide,
all bright eyed like the Vegas strip.
Victoria Jean  Feb 2013
Victoria Jean Feb 2013
I remember it distinctly
That feeling under my nails
The tearing of skin as I ripped away the tape
And shredded the sheet of waxy paper
That separated me from the seeing everything clearly
And living in the world fully with everyone else

I remember the demolition vividly
Where I screamed and kicked at my self-imposed cage
Desperate for an escape from therapeutic exile
“It’s for your own safety!” they cried dully from the other side
I remember purposefully ignoring them
And even making a ****** gesture

I left and I left with haste
I didn’t stop to admire the splendor
Or even discover color again
Walking out into the real world with no film
I took in a deep breath of reality
Alone and alive and free at last, once again

Now, though, as I remember the paper
That sheet that veiled me, or was it protecting me
I remember the outside
It was scratched and mottled and ****** up beyond all saving
And I think about my new face, my new expressions
And I see a reflection of others and choices I didn’t make

I’ve become things and done things
Things you couldn’t tell your mother
Lost my chance to run for cover
So come on down the liquid sings
My warmth is like no other
manicsurvival  Dec 2015
manicsurvival Dec 2015
head to pillow
heart asleep
my eyes: exhausted
for insomnia has taken my mind
endless sleep on morning's light
yet night never takes me

irritated eyes
I toss and I turn
I beg to fall into slumber
my head does not stop moving
but then it halts
halts into the most obscure position
halts into; "why am I thinking about this"?

insomnia, it is 2015
your existence is as old as time
but instant streaming is new, and I'm not alone with my thoughts
in fact...
I believe my literary repertoire is built off insomnia...

let me sleep now for rested sounds peaceful
2:00am poems never bothered me
and music sounds better when no one is awake

but please, let me sleep
allow me to loll into drowsiness
I am telling you I am tired

2mg of Klonopin...still restless
2 boxes of chocolate...still broken

Insomnia, you are an illness
but please have mercy on my sanity
for I am losing it,
and yearn to merely breathe
tired, tired of being alive. tired of breathing disgusting air and the lies the world spews forth from its idiotic bowels. tired of picking up trash and squeezing through the crowds of happy-go lucky yuppies and their screaming chocolate covered children. tired of seeing you every ******* Sunday. tired of shedding tears for constantly thinking about someone who doesn't think of me anymore. tired of the realization that having thoughts means nothing and they are but silent deceivers of what could happen only in my deepest heart wrenching dreams.

just plain tired.

i guess it's time to do as the doctor ordered and pop another klonopin.
Re Grim Jul 2013
Remember those city nights we spent
inhaling the marijuana and halal truck tinted air that fills the space
between the skyscrapers?

Glowing storefronts illuminated
both the skies with their stars glistening quietly under coats of dust
and the streets, dense under ***** and ***** spilled by boys
who yell obscenities to girls
who hang their heads low,
ashamed to be happy to have their push up bras appreciated.

It was the summer we read Catcher in the Rye religiously.
We were overflowing with privilege and hating privilege.
Oh god, how we thought we hated privilege back then.

In June we graduated from middle school,
and you found out your father was cheating on the woman
he cheated on your mother with.
In July you kissed a boy for the first time,
even let him feel you up a little.
I couldn't help getting uneasy,
even though you said it was nothing.

Most nights we couldn’t contain ourselves, shouting ideas
fast as the taxi cabs who'd nearly run our still-growing bodies to the ground,
always in a hurry to get home to their own sleeping children.
We raged rebellion against the red lights.
There was no time to wait around for things as unimportant
as people who weren't us.

In August, I took a klonopin pill from my mom’s drawer
because I couldn’t stop the dread beneath my skull.
It made me sleepy.

We were so filled with poems and wine copped at art galleries
where we’d feigned intellectuality,
that we'd see a *** on a subway train
and call him a vagabond.

Back then we thought we knew how life worked
like the palms of each others hands.
By September, albeit, our fingers were calloused
from the time we climbed a playground's wire fence,
twisted the caps off beer bottles,
and swung from the Monkey Bars.
i could not for the life of me think of a good title

— The End —