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soft Jun 6
You blamed the drugs
and you blamed the *****
Every time you took a look in the mirror
you chose to reassure yourself
instead of those you left behind
Even now after two months sober
no more drugs
and no more *****
you continue to be able to look at yourself in a mirror
and I have no ******* idea how
Patrick May 20
Love was Hope when I lost faith;
Love was warm when death I faced.
Love was power to change my fate.
Love was all these things; But love was fake.

Was.

Then I met you,
And a sun of emotion welled within;
And suddenly, I realized, just what Love is.

Love's not my selfish hurt;
Love's not my cold remarks.
Love's not my mind gone mad.
Love's not what I had.

Love is a drug;
And I'm an addict.
Kacie May 13
Im a barbie girl, in this barbie world
It's fantastic, everyone's plastic
You cannot feel me their
Why do you think you can stop and stare
******* me with that, imagination.

I post daily, fooling everybody
That I am perfect.
It's horrific.
Convorting myself into this typical dumb blond chartor.

Glaze upon my skin as it is flawless
Little do they know it's stage makeup and filters
I have many scars on the inside.
I am starving, but cannot dream to take a bite
Got to pretend that my body is perfect.

Im a barbie girl, in this toxice world
I am drowning, but the waters plastic
You cannot feel me their
But you could not care
******* me quickly, it's fantastic.

Telling all the little girls thats i'm so happy
And this is their dream life
While hiding in the corner hating every part of myself.
Somebody save me from this glitter nightmare.

I'm stuck inside this dollhouse
The walls won't break
They just dress me up, because my lifes a game
But jokes on them, my blond is fake.
I hate my pretty pink prison.

Im a barbie girl living in a hell world,
It is honestly fantastic, no my heart is plastic
You maze well touch me their and undress me anywhere
Now I have realized no one really cares.
  
Yes im a barbie girl, living in a barbie world
I am now an addict , it's fantastic
No one want to stop and stare
No one wants to feel me there
When I'm washing down the pain with pills and drinks.
can't sleep,
early to rise
and search the
classifieds.

one more movie
should do the trick.
or maybe finish
that next game level?

i'll shower after
i get back from
the station,
long walk since
the tire popped.

first things first,
smoke break.
meet us around back
in buddy's tinted van,
you know
where nobody goes.

8 or 9 months is
plenty of time
to shape up.
gotta get it all in
before there's no more room
for my needs.
--
the ones that teach you,
who lift you up over
their heads
in good faith,
these are their stories.
Addiction.
I'm reminded of that word,
As I sit in the dark.
Racing heart,
Twitching fingers,
Sweaty palms.
Relapse time,
Red devil eyes
Will it ever stop?
©️ 2021 Joshua Reece Wylie. All rights reserved. A short poem about one's battle with addiction. Remember you're not alone.
Mindy Belgard Mar 16
Still alive
But barely breathing
I searched but didnt find a meaning
My persistent heart wont stop its beating
I get high instead of sleeping
Finding veins to shoot some speed in
Countless hours ive spent tweaking
Im Just a ****** and a fiend
Playing victim
To a cycle so vicious
Hard to admit im the one who chose and picked this
Im on my own hit list
My lifes the perfect nightmare thats ever been scripted
my Memories play out in tragedies
Remembering saddens me
Ive been more stressed than any kid should ever be
And yet i never let them see
The Years spent living in denial
I want to cry but fake a smile
Something i learned as a child
They wont hurt me if i never let them in
I never learned how to get vulnerable
I just held it all in
Bottled up feelings
Never once expressing
How it feels inside my head
All alone no one knows me
Ive aways been a phony
Force feeding myself so im not too noticeably boney
I Cant cope unless im high
Needle full of dope until i die
My wills too weak to be freed
What was a want has now become a need
Im getting Paranoid as my track marks are getting harder to hide
My Blood thickens as it dries
Empire Jan 27
sensitive content



I'm gonna get myself into trouble one of these days
I thought I wanted drinks
Maybe I want pills
I've always been drawn to anything that'll make my head foggy
Pull thick clouds into my mind
Slow my racing heart
Numb my body

I don't always get that
I have my various ways
I could easily ruin my life with drugs
It's enticing
Something better than having to live
Not without its own pains
But at least sometimes they'd go away

And it's then that I find myself
Wrapped in a foggy bliss
Nearly unable to move
Can't think
Barely breathing
And that's how I like it
I almost thought I'd die
The thought didn't seem to bother me
Not with my system flooded
With whatever it is I've decided to take
No... there's a kind of peace in deciding
You have nothing left to lose
It's really amazing what's legal to put in your body
Chinedu Dike Jan 2020
In an errant venture in curiosity -
lured from savvy of cooler judgment,  
he oversteps the bounds of reality 
into a state of altered awareness.

Overwhelmed by a rapid onset of 
a buzzing sensation - The Rush;  
emanating from deep inside him,  
surging along the veins streaming 

euphoria thru cells of his entire body:  
inside the body, with warm pleasure
waves flushing over the tingling skin
soughing off all unpleasant feelings.

Mouth numbed, limbs heavy, eyeballs 
rolling back from absolute bliss;  
he savours the calm explosions of
the pulsating bubbles in his head.

A magical moment of sheer ******* 
rapture—that ends in a dazed stupor—
ushering him into 'wellbeing'
in a cozy blanket of content.

He falls in love with the narcotic.
And begins to relish its sweet fruition,  
in a seemly pattern of use put in 
the shade by his best interests.

A stake in normalcy that in time gives 
way to his nightly soaring and drifting,
in an illusionary paradise of forgetting
where nothing hurts anymore.

In a bit by bit build up of tolerance to 
the ******, he grows quite a craving 
for it: needing higher doses time and 
again to sustain the desired effect. 

Seemingly oblivious to its lethal effect
on the pleasure centre of his brain,
that is being hijacked and taken captive 
by the illicit psychoactive substance.

A hostage position that interferes 
with the interior reality of his mind.
All at once he wants to 'use'!
He begins to look forward to using.

At times he'd skip work chasing the dragon:  
pursuing the out-of-reach elation levels 
of his initial high - in a vicious cycle of
ebbs and flows of mediocre and ecstasy.

Always, he'd end up with a crash below
baseline - barely able to cater for his
basic needs. The habit, no longer
is the fun that it was intended to be.

The potent drug appears to offer reliefs 
not justified by external realities;
the more he indulges, the more
its comfort zone seems to be desired.

Disoriented in the rigours of his vice,
he strays in the abyss of drug addiction:
a dark, weary place where priority disorder 
is dictated by events outside his control.

It is this corrupted impulse-control which
causes his sick obsession with the opioid,
rendering him unfit to articulate rational
thoughts—a chronic brain disorder!  

In this harmful shift away from reality,  
utmost in his mind is the mood-altering drug:
ahead of his job, his goals, family, love,  
friends, hobbies, personal hygiene.

Oddly enough the foremost essentials of life
like water, food, and sleep are not spared.
He could be ill, he won't care.
No other thoughts can cohabit in his world.

Emotionally invested in his fantasy world,  
the sedative has kindled in him an
inner turmoil - setting off an overriding
feeling of emptiness that aches in his heart.

The habit much harder to lose than it was 
to find: his relentless attempts to regain
sobriety are negated by anxiety and sickly 
'comedowns' that intensify with severity.

These horrifying withdrawal symptoms
are a result of the stimulant's induced
changes in the chemistry of his brain's
system of reward and punishment.

They're the karmic outcomes initiated by
an upswing in his body's tolerance to the
******: galling side effects that rise and
fall subject to drug levels in the system.

A habit he had maintained at the outset
due to the untainted glee offered, has
turned against him, very often coercing
him into using for the avoidance of pain.

The mind-blower as dear and painful to
him as an imbecilic child is to its mother,  
he continues on the foreboding route 
for which he has no power of deviation.

Despairing in the clutches of addiction:
the drugs traumatize him, they infuse
poisons into his spine, and he doesn't
know whether he's coming or going.

Every day he keeps on promising himself:
'I'll stop using for good after this last time.'
But that remains to be seen - as the drug
goes on dulling his inner light day by day.

In a downward spiral that stunned those 
acquainted with him; he lost his job,  
sold his car, and was evicted from 
a home that had been stripped bare.

The drug has evoked a negative ripple
felt throughout all that he's part of.
An awful realization that settles in with
cold clarity, eliciting a lurch of dismay

over his dire ignorance about the drug
that has led to the ugly entrapment.
In deep, sorrowful thoughts consumed
with self-loathing, he puts a curse upon

the day he first laid eyes on the hard drug.
With the best resolve he could muster -
driven by a remorse to kick the habit,
he strives to make his will like stone.

A facade that is soon razed by his urgent
need for the ****** merely to feel 'normal'.
With a huge burden of guilt he wanders
astray in the haze of his own misery.

In his besotting passion for the narcotic,
he'd go to any means to fuel the habit: 
he'd cheat, steal, lie or betray even the 
ones who care about him to get his 'fix'.

Like spreading of cancer in the body,  
his affliction has metastasized way 
beyond him - chipping away at the sense
of wellbeing of everyone around him.

As frequent targets for theft his family
have to always watch out for him,
in a resentful relations where they've to
sleep with their wallets under the pillows.

Jewellery, gadgets, or any other easy
to carry household valuables that is
not safely locked away will go missing.
For days at a time he too will vanish.

In the many months gone since losing his
source of livelihood, he's been pushed
into several rehabilitation facilities,
but as yet has failed to clean up his act.

He's also been in and out of rehab thrice
following hospital discharges for drug
overdose. On the last occasion, he was
found passed out in the family bathtub.

Timely arrival of the paramedics had saved
his life. That notwithstanding, a powerful
urge to use continues to feed the habit
each time he's released from therapy.

It's been most upsetting to the parents
who have had to watch him visibly change
before their eyes: from a good, healthy
son who had always had his act together;

to as it is, a thin, patchy-skinned recluse
with a baffled demeanour - who buries
his head in low self-esteem to conceal
glassy, bloodshot eyes from eyecontacts.

Nothing points more to the helplessness 
of the family's plight than having to finally
admit their little or no influence over the
ravages of the highly stigmatized disorder.

A harrowing experience for a household
whose life-savings along with compassion
for him have completely been exhausted,
with no more tears remaining to shed.

The hurting family at the end of its tether
confronts him with an ultimatum:  
To get his life in order or be kicked out!  
Coldly, they watch him leave.

Among the ranks of homeless the ****** 
would wake up feeling sick, and spend his 
day struggling to find ways to relieve the 
incessant strain of an insatiable craving.

On rare lucky nights he'd sleep on friends'
couches, otherwise the rough sleeper
crashes wherever there's shelter, never
worrying about waking up the next day. 

A hellish existence on the streets that has
provoked a string of run-ins with the law. 
Nabbed stealing on ill-fated occasions,
he's pitilessly mobbed in inhumane ways.

Broken, sick, starving; the erstwhile ray of
hope who once had much going for him,
presently, he's a nervous wreck envisaging 
life through the lens of opioid stupor.

Far beyond his ability to ask for help, 
loved ones proceed to rescue him. 
Under the demeaning load of drug
dependence he staggers into a rehab.

But the often slippery climb to recovery
is never easy. It's yet another chance to
submit to a slow and delicate therapy on 
his brain, whose structure and functions 

are badly impaired due to a long-term use
of the toxic substance. In a daunting slog,
he'll have to learn to care for a body
that now ought to work differently.

Desiring to put their lives back together,
in the guiding light of structured help
many drug addicts have been able to
crawl their ways out of the dark abyss. 

Amongst them are 'walking corpses' who
possessed by their 'enough is enough',
are able to find the inner fire needed to
rekindle the cold embers of self-image.

There's the fella cast adrift feeling wholly
disconnected from self and the world.
He's mourning the split from a vital lifeline
that'd kept him afloat in a chaotic reality.

As a relief of all anxieties coupled with
it's inducement of a state of illusory bliss,
the ****** has been the only companion
he could count on to cheer him up.

That being so, he's unable to justify why
he ought to be sober, when in such times
he's beset by an awful illness attended
by a serious depression that's of no help.

In the face of the hell he's been thru,
all the things that are dear to him plus
the very essence of life on the line, he's
left persuaded that giving up the habit

will amount to a never-ending gloom
for the rest of his already sad existence.
Over and above all other reasons, he just
won't quit because he's unable to quit.

But alas, something's amiss! Broken is
that inner spirit wherein lay his will
and the ability to choose. Hence, he
has no recourse to a willpower whose

changeful potency is forcibly enfeebled.
Yet, as intense as the strain of the drug
may be, it's nonetheless transient and
would dissipate in the fullness of time.

In default of any dreams of ever recouping
losses that are manifestly out of reach,
the drug with a firm grip on him serves 
as a buffer to keep his ugly reality at bay.

But even so, much as he desires to jump
the rehab process, he's bitterly pitted
against the horrors of street life that loom
upon him with such frightening aspect.

Savagely trapped with no good choices,
he slips into a mortal dread of relapse. 
In anguish withdrawals torment him daily,
and they won't let him be for a second.

Utterly incapable of rising from the ashes 
to hold it all together—no hope—
nothing to hope for—everything out 
of focus—mind spiraling out of control.

In a fit of extreme anxiety the raging 
desire propels him to the threshold
of total lunacy. And suddenly, his
need for a 'hit' becomes most vital as.

Trembling all over with fear clutching 
a pilfered smartphone, forgetful of 
future suffering the rehab jumper 
hurries along the forbidden path.

All alone with the merciless companion: 
nowhere to go and no one to turn to. 
Wretchedly wretched in additive agony,
he fades away into nothingness.






NOTE: 'The Rush' is mostly felt when ****** or any of it's
derivatives (opioids or opiates) is administered intravenously.

The Abyss Of Drug Addiction is a poignant story depicting
the sad existence of many drug addicts. Poetic in tone
the verse uncovers and illuminates the mental processes
of the unable to function drug users, who suffer from
from chronic substance use disorder.

The paramount aim of the work is to shed some light
on the sinister shadow of drug addiction:
To unveil to all and sundry especially teenagers
and the youths, the hazards of drug abuse and
the vicious downward spiral that can be caused by it. 

Just as the euphoric experiences of all kinds of hard drugs
differ significantly, so are the withdrawal symptoms.
Despite their seeming surface unrelatedness,
whatever the case may be, the creation of an illegal and
dangerous dependency in users is a common denominator.
***
Robyn Jan 23
A person addicted
an abuser of substance,
slave to poison.
Pursuing an intoxicating dream-

Is it truly preposterous,
the desire to escape reality.
Leaving behind the the grey
of a long forgotten world.

White lines, like snow
paving the path to a baseless illusion.
A ticket out
even if only transitory.

Addict?
Alex Kabat Dec 2020
what becomes of the body?
as the soul drains
and the spirit trickles
fluid from the tip of an IV

they bloom by the day
lilac blotches
in a field of pale white skin

i kneel at her side,
materialize when summoned
no matter how badly my bones ache:
allegiance to an addict

countless cuts from broken glass
screaming match
and sirens’ haunting pass
lacerations without stitches are liabilities, too.

i do not recall the age i became an adult,
can’t recall childhood fantasies
so i ask --
what becomes of the mind?
bones can only take so many
beatings until they surrender

do you understand
that a man who feels small
will always be
no matter how many times
his knuckles bleed

i know the difference
between a flower and a bruise
although i am still learning
how to let an empty heart go
on giving too much of myself & never knowing where to draw the line
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