Want to submit your work? Request an invite
ym  Mar 2014
addiction
ym Mar 2014
euphoric paranoia
               accompanies your touch
as you finger your way
               under my skin
shadows on the curve
               of your neck
jitters of reality
               involuntary fantasy
caverns in my body
               unrecognizable reflections
disintegrating away
               maybe its your love
                            maybe its meth
La Mer Sep 2014
Eight pounds of thorough cocaine
split between two brothers of Zaragoza, Spain
the love for substance has lost all of it's hope
time for family split between hours of dope
there was a newborn with wings, without a full day
because the love for substance stood directly in the way.
olivia grace  Sep 2013
substance
olivia grace Sep 2013
liquid
substance

rocks
substance

smoke
substance

can’t remember
substance

which substance?

abuse
abuser
abusie

abooozie
booze
abuse

fill up my cup
abuse

fill up my pipe
abuse

fill up my syringe
abuse

fill up my veins
abuse

fill up my heart til it’s beating hard enough for me to feel alive
abuse

feed the mermaid in my kneecaps with glitter liquid
abuse

any kind
abuse

to make me forget
abuse

just want to use
abuse

to make me forget the pain
when he lays hands on me
lays his own
abuse
on me

someone once told me, substance abusers are weak
face your problems head on
why do you need to see stars before you wake up
why is coke your coffee
why is whiskey your orange juice
why is meth your pancakes

and I say
if I am weak
then how come I can cling onto the clouds

perhaps, if I could live to be 1000 years old
I will have clinged to the clouds long enough for them to get sick of me

but for now, those clouds are my demons
and I’ve never loved the color red
so much
Braxton Reid  Apr 2016
On Cooking
Braxton Reid Apr 2016
It is war
A kitchen full of hungry guest
An audience of folks ready for experience in the physical sense
You sweat, bleed, love, and hate

It is sharing
In the most obvious state
Of emotion garnished on the plate
A lit cigarette on your break

It is satisfaction
Knowing you gave it all
Or at least pretending when the orders fall
Letting your instincts flow when you stall

It is passion and peer review
A drink with "The Family" after all is through
And each pint brings you closer to
A recollection of a memory
Umang K  Jan 2015
Just Chemistry
Umang K Jan 2015
You can literally manufacture it in a chemistry lab;
There are formulae and measurements of hormones that add up
To this supposedly tangible entity

A nicely brewed test tube
Of elaborately named chemicals

The very thing that makes you tremble in your skin,
That has caused wars and set ships assail
Confined to a liquid in a glass container
"There is a clarity you feel...something like a bride would feel, removing a veil and seeing her husband without it. No thin mesh, clouding you. There is a clarity you feel when you finally put down your abuse."

I say while abusing once again. It's funny how light on dark moments makes the light seem brighter than normal. The truth is, the light is no different than any other day, but since you've never seen the light here its brighter. A funny perspective skew. With abuse it's the same way. You quit, give up the vice that holds you tighter than any human hand. And feels more comfortable than love. You quit addiction for sun light because after you've given death a few rounds you realize that sun isn't just bright...it's warm.

It touches your skin
and all your cells race
to the surface,
antioxidize my sins.

Months pass and you become used to the light. It's normal again, and it grows weary under the weight of the boots. The veil would be better than this.

It was better than this.

And so the light becomes the same, and maybe you need darkness again to feel that warmth. Maybe you need the vice to cut off your circulation, make you shiver in the summer winter. So that sunlight doesn't just slide past you, so that it touches you again, the way it did when you opened your eyes for the first time...

Guilt rides your
back instead,
the warhorse
of an individual
apocalypse.

You make it, though...you keep secrets, you tell lies, so no one knows. It's not just darkness, it's silence, to deprivate from

"You can get through this"
"You'll be okay"
"Youre strong"

Because paranoid whispers are better friends. But it takes awakening from the right dream to remember that the sun loves you more. Your sun loves everyone, it pours down on everyone, it fills the darkness. All the darkness is just empty space anyway. Waiting for something warm to fill it.

It takes awakening from the right dream to make you realize that the sun doesn't just fill darkness, it grows life, it lives at the crest of mountain peaks, above the ocean of clouds.

So you understand that sun lights a path,
and you run it,
you plant feet
and
oaks blossom.

You never again take the world for granted.
You never again compare light.
Because even if it is the same light overflowing a new dark,
It is a growing light.

And it is always warm,
And it sometimes burns.
a woman of substance the magazine proclaims
and what are these "substances" may I ask?

Its her grit and determination
her will to succeed
to overcome and defend her rights
if need be
loving and nurturing are not her only duties
she can also break your heart or break your bones
messing with her is not a risk you need
she creates her own space
she finds her own niche

She may be a social butterfly, a business woman,
a sports star, a housewife or a maid indeed
but a woman of substance is one of a kind indeed
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
  09/08/2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Genevieve  Apr 2014
Substance
Genevieve Apr 2014
When I say I feel empty,

it's not the way I haven't eaten
in days
and vomited so much
my teeth are rotting.

It's not the loneliness,
when I am lying in bed alone
At 3am and all I hear are
The monsters in my head

It's not my parents fighting again,
Throwing glass at each other
In anger and rage
Right infront of their children.

It's my life.

My life has no substance,
I mean nothing to the world
Empty space
Wasted air.

I'm not sure how to fill this hole
But I'm trying to get better
I'm stepping out of old habits
Finding something new
To focus on
To fill the time
Day by day
As it passes right before your eyes.
Klaus  Oct 2012
No substance
Klaus Oct 2012
This cigarette;
A disguised kiss
Is it

This barley wine
While bathing with mine
Am I

This green
A safe dream
So it seemed


No bloom
This grief and gloom
It is
Here
Carter Ginter Sep 2017
Did I ever tell you
Why I stopped drinking?
Why I am so terrified
To take a sip alone?
How that one time after class
My heart was broken
And I skipped the glass
And drank straight from the bottle?
How I crumbled into a ball
Under my favorite blanket
My mind screaming through the halls
Fighting off the demons trying to drown me?
Of course I always want to die
That's something I've learned to live with
But never before in my life
Had I known that I could give in.
Yet there I lay crying
Wasted with a racing mind
Begging to give in to dying
But instead I went to sleep.
So when my depression intensifies
And I run to my substances
I am so terrified
So alcohol is the last option.
Because it could be my last decision.
Yellow Boots Apr 2015
It's when I write about you
that everything gets clear again,
the compass points North again,
I'm found when it's you I write about.
Silly, you, my last cigarette
that it's today, then it's tomorrow,
then it's never
(might denote substance abuse on my part,
lack of substance on yours,
plenty of essence, silly eyed you).
Your stubble-ness that never hurt
my skin, my drama queen attitude
that's so last year.
We've both grown, now
irony is free, a laughter
that wakes up the neighbors, mine,
your sobriety, sober shirts, sober posture;
you don't get my jokes anymore, do you?
Silly serious grown-up haircut,
stick my fingers up your nose,
teach you how to be stray and free again,
tell you all is good, I still love you
like an orphan a passer-by, you
so northerly cold, fierce, insecure, mask
behind which my golden silly one lies sad
unaware of substance, essence
caught on a leash that's his own free will.
Meg Howell Feb 2015
With beady,
lurking eyes
they pass judgement
looking for just one
"fatal flaw" to mock
Regurgitating false statements
giving them absolutely
no hope
for a future
ah, they say they have
but a single care
in the world
to provoke
to harass
those with substance
which they so evidently lack
what a world to live in
It's rather childish,
don't you think?
There are people in the world who pointlessly mock others. If that is all life is worth to someone, to make fun, to hurt, then what a worthless life to live. In all honesty, people like that are hurting themselves more than any other person.
Lame Poet Oct 2013
I want to be a substance abuser.

I want the vapidity
of my own words
to evaporate.
I want the void
to rev itself up,
and spin itself into
a voracious tornado.

I want to extinguish
the emptiness
with this epitaph.
I want language
to bend to my will,
leaning and looming
as an entity of entirety.

If I should be so lucky,
I hope to die
of an overdose.


-LP
Next page