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s y kalindara Oct 10
My heart is an addict of fiction.

Awakening your pages with every drum,
it beats to remind me
that you're my very own
evergreen paramour
and I'm so sick of its pounding propaganda.

Copyright © 2020 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved.
Why does my heart keep insisting that you're the love of my life?
max Oct 10
[TW: self-harm]

i'm 11 weeks clean and,
the past month has been,
rough to say the least

the urges are only getting worse,
and ive come so close to the blades,
to the flames,
to the sensation

i just want to feel something
im just so,
i need to,
i have to

the nightmares are back
the flashbacks
the trauma
it's all back
can i have the pain back too?
Zeeyerh Adams Sep 12
It begins with a tingle,
Her core quivering with the need to feel alive,
Remembering the intense pleasures,
Guilty, is her shame.

As the depravity of rapture consumes her,
'This is the last time,'
Desperate in clinging to her promise,
Whilst, the devils snicker.
Her eyes raving mad,
Her body, a stranger to withdrawal,
'Just a little, just to take the edge off,'
She breaks for the reprieve,
Short lived ecstasy.

Over and over again.
This is a about addictions and the constant battles of falling into the darkness.
leechyna Sep 7
'''She is becoming  more addictive ☺️☺️
Maybe she is heroine
She smells funny
That's why I call her bunny ☺️☺️☺️
Simple round full lemons🤲🏽🤲🏽
**** am grateful to the farmer
Okay with then I like them more than melons😂'''
Nearing addict
status; once spurned pure black
but now it’s my composition.

my thoughts;
next round is scotch:
Next, I’m alcoholic.
Yet, withdrawal never latches.
I’m safe.
Two Cinquains. Describes how I overindulge in coffee (I once couldn't stand the taste of black coffee and now I can't get enough of it) and I fear that alcohol will do the same to me (I don't like the taste of it but maybe I'll love it too much like I do coffee). Yet, even with coffee, I can drink heavy amounts of it for days and be completely fine (not experience withdrawal symptoms).
So with my anxious thoughts, they seem like they will stick with me forever but in the end, I'll be fine.
Kay Rocha Aug 24
We sit in stillness with our thoughts.
Emotions running rampant.
Out of control.
You were better- you were happy.
You were the man that I fell in love with again.
For that sweet everlasting second I saw a glimpse of that man.
If I had known I would’ve stopped.
For you.
But now that’s not something I can do.
Uncertainty filling the air between our touch as we lay on opposite sides of the bed.
I see this shell looking back at me and my heart is sore.
Saddened to see you like this.
I missed you for so long.
I’m sorry that I couldn’t-
Or wouldn’t, be strong.
I thought we could go back.
We can’t.
Have you ever realized how it makes the air thick?
The anxiety that lingers like lint from the laundry.
How damp and humid it becomes?
Wondering who and when the other will spill their souls.
I can’t even hear you breathe anymore.
Only the sound of my own shaky breath ticks the time away.
Holding back the tears.
Four years,
And silence is what sits between us.
Kay Rocha Aug 24
She's an artist.

A painter to be exact.

Connecting darling dots along her veins.

She's an actress.

The Queen of little lies.

Her best performance is to herself, pretending everything's alright.

She's the guardian.

Stashing away all the pain.

She puts it in a box never to be touched again.

She's all alone.

She sits in heavy silence.

And never speaks a single word.
Myrrdin Aug 11
I'm addicted to happiness,
I wish it was my own,
I didn't leave,
When he asked me not to,
I only stayed,
Because I didn't want to.
caught up in the mix
sniffing out my fix
to feed these demons in my head
years of being spun
still I'm not dead

spinning on this endless ride
deep inside the real me hides
I deny the truth it hurts too much
I'm in love with my denial
it makes the sting of unfulfilled desires go away

I'm waiting for my ashes
to be dropped into the bay

wonder if I'll ever learn
this devil inside
is my only obstacle
like to blame instead
**** it, anyways
it's just in my head

a breathing corpse
is what I've become
my soul is dead

as I pretend to think
written in ink
cleverly disguised
all of my
senseless alibis

dreaming of the day
the good lord takes me away
life everlasting
sounds alright
as long as it's not
like these nights
lost in the drama of a user's a paranoia

I'm pulled down into the pit
this abyss of
of every sort
all completely consumed
by their disease

as we all slowly march to our destiny

prison, death, or mental ward
one way dead end
is what I've become
lie to myself
in self-pity delusions
ain't life grand?

lie to myself some more
life is such a bore
yeah yeah yeah
Dave Jul 23
Addictions are like
Comfy jail cells
With games, food
and everything necessary.
You find no reason
To get out of it
Even with it's doors wide open
So you just sit right there
Until time runs out and it's doors Are shut permanently.
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