Her anxious legs, her body feels the absence of the last smoke, the last snort.
She preps her shot thinking it will be boss but down the drain she goes.
She'll fight her mind, her body, her spirit, but doesn't know which way to go.
So her body decides, as she's screaming in her mind, let me go, let me go!
She preps the needle with the spoon as her priorities are left in the dust.
Everything ice cold but not that hole in her arm, it's slowly trickling out blood.
Seconds bring instant comfort, relieving her restless body and anxious mind.
She cannot bear the withdrawals that come along dragging her behind.
A sharp spear laced in poison detracting delicate skin to bruises and scars.
Unit, by unit, her shot dissipates and every inch of her eagerly awaits to embrace the rush of the high.
As time slips by, the high subsides and she is dry, all insecurities exposed in bare sight.
Panic..on the search..broke..fiending..stealing..robbing..lost loved ones..manipulation..broken promises..
The curse gets worse. It's meaningless synthetic comfort, the happy juice she can never refuse fills her receptors, a matching piece to fit the puzzle
The feeling can't be beat, a silent stream reminding her in her dreams creeping into the sunrise bursting with a desperate scream.
Worry and panic demands her full focus and the lies and deceit don't stop until fear of not having money has subsided. Begging and crying, playing the victim with no rest until she got her fix.
She's not happy, she feels dead. Synthetic pleasure breeds depression, and she's cannot function on her own, she disregards her responsibilities and continues to fail
Her presence overdue, regularly absent she won't pass, she'll miss out on every opportunity or simply won't care for consequences.
Dope is her only interest, where she pours all her energy and effort, she even proposed to forever be a servant, for what she loves most.
So much aggressive energy to remain living, guilt-tripping her lover into enabling her, she get's what she wants.
Time and time again until she drains his resources, with nothing left to give, he starves.
Confusion blocks her judgment as she believes the sickness is out to get her, but she has exhausted her funds too, tired of depending on her dope dictator, wishing to be free from the physical and psychological deterioration.
Her best friend heroin left her for dead, locked her in a cage kicking and screaming.
How much do you really love me?? Fight for me and score some more the funds to feed the fire, exhausted, not a dollar to my name.
Validate me, i'm what you need. I'll give you hugs and kisses, dreams of the childhood you never had.
Leave it all in the past because i'm the high that leaves you in a fragile state, mistake by mistake it's the price you will pay.
Near and far, nodding in and out, constantly chasing the dragon. Familiar pleasure filling the lungs provides the sense of stability blocking out pain and discomfort.
Oblivious to the vicious demise quietly poisoning your body, draining your youth as your life is dictated where the abstinence of dope exaggerates the sickness that overruns as you lose control of your life and question your purpose.
Losing touch with reality, addiction becomes erratic-out of control. You don't recognize the face in the mirror anymore, a slave to an demanding lifestyle draining you from the inside out.
Not sure your reason to keep living, hoping one day you can beat your disease never looking back. The day came, you're tired, you've given up, you need out. Looking back, you've accomplished not a single thing.
Only getting older with more expectations, forced to revaluate your progress, found out to be limited to none. You're so done.
Running with open arms into recovery is the only chance you'll succeed, and to breed your goals and dreams you need to believe. To put in your effort and defeat the beast thats waiting for the chance you slip up and bleed.
Take one day at a time, this is a must, far from simple , but you need to trust.
In yourself, a higher power, an inspiration, will be the motivation to reclaim your life back, claim true happiness, and become the best version of yourself
self-loathing is so addictive
pain is the escape neverending
taste of blood mixed with tears
your art is burned for its warmth
figures become monsters
monsters have become a companion
eyes shine with anticipation
waiting to catch your eye
i should get help cause i'm an addict
but i don't want help,
Addiction is a funny thing
I was perfectly clean for years, sober for years
But I could smell the alcohol in the hand sanitizer at the movie theater
I went home and poured a vodka on the rocks with a lime
I have not seen you in ten years, but one simple touch of yours and I was an addict again
What I am trying to say is I think I love you again.
did you really love me?
or were you too busy
making out with white lines
forced by the hunger
to feel something.
i know its selfish of me but i
can't help but wish i could've been what you longed for.
and maybe i'll never be.
maybe it'll always be this circle of me loving
me justifying and the
both of us lying to cover up the painful truth
that we’re both
you from a lackluster life
me from hypothermia.
cold from your shoulder
cold from your glassy eyed stare
cold from too many nights staying up alone
blood shot eyes
scribbling notes madly
not mad with passion
or love or even some
narcissistic desire to mark my spot before i burn out like the sun.
I write with pain
words fucking exploding out of me
making themselves known like an involuntary tic
lurching my body
my body ridding itself of a vile poison
of the vile words you put in my head in the first place
so you ask me why the hell am i still here.
and all i can say is that
i don't know.
i was hoping the saying blood is thicker than water
that maybe in some parallel universe
you could still be my mom
before your love for the ivory
took you away.
I have known this fool from half way through high school,
And the best part about it is watching the fool replace himself
With the will of gods that only exist in myths,
And the strength of a thousand dead martyrs.
And it's gonna get harder man, it's gonna get a lot harder-
But the longer you remain,
your bones will begin to hold the secrets
On how to kill your demons.
The longer you remain,
The endorphins will drift from your veins
And your soul will take their place.
In 2017, at this age,
What normal human being isn't coping with these societal traditions
By forcing their brain into addiction?
These are ancient laws of man, transcending modern knowledge.
Evolution made us capable of questioning our origin or divinity,
And some dare say that an imaginary man gave them this gift of sight;
Societal traditions to condition us into complacent perpetuation of the history that enslaves us.
Lately I haven't been able to hold one train of thought without
Going off the rails, but instead of crashing and burning,
I just travel at the speed of light around all the answers
that could be right.
Ultimately you inspired me to say
I am so proud that you are here today.
With my brothers wild spirit tamed by opiates,
He lingers on my bicep in memorial form
He lingers in the prayers I whisper to the dead,
As gods do not hear your prayers.
(they are too busy creating universes and
punishing their own creations
for acting out of free will)
My prayers are answered by people I know,
Whose physical forms met quietus.
They live on in otherworldly favors,
They live on in signs and vibes.
There is more to death than meets the eye.
Tangent after tangent,
I shall come to a close.
My brother was lost to needle and tar:
He passed away at the grocery store,
In the emptiness of his only car.
My friend, you are not lost
And you are still with us.
I'm so proud you now know the cost
Of instantaneous gratification offered by
The murder drug.
If love is a drug than I don't want it.
cause I got a gypsy soul for leaving
and a mothers heart for scars in need of healing
If love is a drug than I don't want it.
Because I got no self control,
An addict mind and habits ages old
There have been days where I have woken up with nothing but pure excitement for the journey of my day
But there have been so many days where I cannot even fathom the idea of inching my way out of bed
There are nights where I look forward to gathering with friends and being out and enjoying the moonlight
But there have been so many nights where I cannot even dream of anything besides being alone with a bottle of whatever
Highs and lows
Depression knows no bounds
It doesn’t play favorites
It doesn’t come every day, but it is always there
Depression doesn’t know that it was my best friends birthday and I promised I’d make it to the club
Depression only knows it’s December 23rd and it’s time to listen to the same song for the 17th time in a row
Depression only knows that I haven’t eaten in 2 days and this bottle will demolish my sanity
Depression can only see that if I don’t have the mental capacity to acknowledge my problems, then maybe they don’t exist
It doesn’t come every day
But it’s always there
I'm trading tender for splendor:
The loss of sweat, not-so-tragic.
I'll build up my blisters for whispers:
Spells recited in habit.
Dollars can buy what I seek:
It doesn't take many to have it.
The strange, the odd, the mystique:
The flowers painted by rabbits.
The song played by the beach:
The harp without hands to grab it.
Nature has cradled my needs:
The order created by savage.
We pay for all of these things:
Even chance has stated this adage.
I know this from my own beliefs:
The months living as addict.
They blurred, and flew on the wings:
My "needs" growing emphatic.
The basement was surely my feet:
My mind, alone in the attic.
The empty, the holes, the replete:
Filled, trading my money for magic.
Hard drugs and safe sex
That’s all you need when your life’s a mess
A bit of brown
When you’re feeling down
Can really help
Turn your world around
A tight belt
Then an injection
A bit of foreplay
Time for protection
He rubbers up
And takes no chance
In this romance
He needs no bed
Or fancy candles
They do it outside
The kinky scoundrels
He doesn’t want to compromise
Or run the risk
Of another life
He’s got everything
He could ever need
A crack pipe
And some speed
The streets are no place
To bring up a child
He knows that
They’d rather go wild
They shoot up
And take some blow
Take off their clothes
It’s all on show
She kisses his neck
Like he wants her to
Get the ‘jonny’ out
You know what to do
It’s all commotion
Of deep devotion
An open mind
And the empty air
As they lay bare
All he needs is hard drugs and safe sex
That’s all he needs when his life’s a wreck
A bit of brown
When he was down
Gave him a smile
And took away the frown