Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
m lang Feb 2022
my descent into Darkness;
i remember how beautiful It felt.
being swallowed into The Pitiful Abyss
until i was sealed underneath Its surface.
it was pure Bliss.
numbing my emotions,
Its darkness encapsulated my feelings,
keeping them buried out of sight.
falling   diving   sliding
              sinking.
the days grazed into nothingness.
the agony was gone.
It felt wonderful.
there were fires burning above the surface
but no longer were they felt by me,
only others.
It was a beautiful descent.
yet as i slowly began to lose my breath,
Its pain began to to pierce my lungs,
asphyxiating me by means of emotional strangulation.
my unbearable grief fired into my bloodstream,
the effects worse than ******, and without the pleasure.
It's flooding through my veins
as tears endlessly cascaded down my cheeks.
"How did I get here?"
the pain became unavoidable, unbearable.
but how can you become what you already are?
it was then when i realized:
i wasn't sinking into the Abyss,
i was drowning inside of It.
1-31-2022 (i don’t condone drug use and have never done ****** fyi, just a metaphor.)
m lang Feb 2022
we've been playing for months, yet
i am no longer the master of my own game.
i sit and wonder, "how did i get here?"
without ever truly questioning myself.
simply because i knew.
it is as though I am currently without a name.
considerably since "This" is no longer Me.
who I am, who That is,
                I am no longer certain.
I have simply become a replica of Its impression on Self.
      "tick tock, tick, tock."
the arrogance of time refuses to stop,
and "now" becomes a fleeting "then"
as My life slips through "Her"
into a dazed, drunken phase.
time only lingers in the present
for those who are truly Present.
Her time is lost, so what is My time
when the days blur together?
"Her" memory sanitized and wiped cleaned.
***** cleans wounds, right?
Dissociation to self,  the insouciant desire to care.
an erratic, chaotic, tumultuous torrential downpour.
I'm theatrical sure, but passionately so.
"Passion," i'll drink to that.
                   "Pain" has me pouring another,
                                                    and another.
"Reward me," and we'll cheers to the clear liquid that
warms my throat with each increasing gulp.
"Relax." you worked hard, take one or two.
              Six deep, Seven's the magic number,
                          plus, what's one more?

yet one will never be enough.    "sleep or shoot."
            
                            don't forget to swallow.
                            you know you love it.

stop saying no when You can say "yes,"
and stop holding back, when I'm telling You "NO."

                         stop fighting...
                                                ...su­ccumb to the misery.
  
 besides, just one pour will make it all better.
9-8-2022
Lyss Brianne Dec 2021
I often wonder who you would be
if you never got cancer in high school
and you didn’t get addicted to pain pills
—if your mom never left  
when you were in desperate need of a parent
and you got help instead of radio silence
from the people that were supposed to protect you

I often wonder who you would be
if you never tried ******* or molly
and you took your meds
instead of self medicating
—if your friends knew how to love you
in ways that didn’t include
encouraging your addiction

I often wonder who you would be
if you started going to therapy
and accepted help for the first time in your life
so you could see that none of this
has ever been your fault

I often wonder who you would be
if you never locked me out
and you opened up instead
—if you accepted that you can’t do this all alone
would you be the person I know you could be
will you ever heal or will your addiction
take your life like it took your mom
and everything else
that was supposed to protect you
Lyss Brianne Dec 2021
Today Snapchat reminds me
that a year ago you made me smile
and I feel a wave of sadness
for the happy ******* my screen
with tears in her shining eyes
I hear her say that she’s happy
and for a moment I’m envious
of her naivety of love

Today Snapchat reminds me
that two years ago we went
on our first date
but what it doesn’t show
is you showing up late in a ***** t-shirt
your eyes sunken in
and cheeks hollowed
from a night full of lines
and little white pills

Today I am reminded
that for you I didn’t have
rose coloured glasses
instead I had rose coloured irises
I was unable to take off
the admiration I had for you  
so I let myself believe that
what you gave me
was love

I still miss you
like you’re a word on the tip of my tongue
that I can’t quite spit out
and no matter how hard I try
you never show up when I need you to
—you only rear your head at night
long after my head hits the pillow
and my eyes finally rest
—only then do I remember you

I know you no longer think of me
I was never a fond memory for you
there was never a place in your mind
for my naive love stories
but you let me break my own heart anyway
maybe it made you feel something
to watch me shatter
and for a moment
you became addicted to hurting me
like I was your newest high
but like everything else
you grew a tolerance for me
and tossed me aside for the next drug
Andrew Dec 2021
Before I die
I wanna try
Just one day
Without a lie
To feel free
In every way
Help me be
Run a mile
Go and play
With a smile
Make me cry
For a while
Not get high
SF Couture Dec 2021
Feels so good to be back with you
On top of the world again
They said you were no good for me
But i love you.
They gathered in a crowd
Grabbed and yanked at my arms to stop my meeting you
But you make me feel so free
So wild inside.
So in the moment
Not worried about a second that was or will be
Living purely in this tiny moment of now
When i'm with you
I'm so above the ground.
Naeem Dec 2021
Just another self-indulged addict
Addicted to the attention writing brings
So I indulge this hobby that separates me from them
In hopes you'll give me my next fix
And sustain me the days my creativity runs dry
A writers block
An addicts road to recovery

I write to be different
I write for the attention
I write for my addiction.
a poet, an addict, where's the difference?
jon Nov 2021
I walked to meet up with the dope dealer
To get some more of the soul stealer.
Aditya Roy Nov 2021
The melancholic grin of the old
As the cold hurts the inner soul
Crumbles the bones of the bowed legs
Aspirin, ******, and saccharin

Puncture wounds of a snake that bit you
My friend, have you lost
Your battle with the truth
Can't you face the reality of addiction

Cheers, cheers, cheers
With another beer
Look at how society leers at you
You warm-hearted tool.
Next page