the last two messages you sent
i never even read
i no longer check to see if you've messaged me
since i deleted that thread
i finally had to give up
and see that the relationshit was dead
you made up this false version of me
based off of resentment and thoughts you never said
just know that i'm sorry
i know all of this is still ******* with your head
i feel i did the right thing
i learn to go with my gut now and i've yet to be misled
some days are so easy
while others hurt deeply and i can't shake the dread
a couple times you roped me in
i guess your intentions involved the ego needing to be fed
you're the one who pays in the end
cause i can live with myself and an empty bed
08.15.2020 - 19:36
i am still not over it and that's okay
I'd like the concept of un-commercialized happiness
Not sold on the internet, supermarkets or luxury stores
Not branded by the colorful packaging or familiar faces
Something I will not get addicted to and want more and more
I would like my happiness not sold, rather found unexpectedly
Perhaps on the roadside, from a flower or from a stranger
Without a need to hold on to the feeling desperately
Without a need to save it for later
I would like the concept of one time only happiness
No recollection of it once completely lived through
Without a single picture, word or song, no leftover business
No successive advertisements to later prey on you
I'd like to be happy and not in the convenient way
I would like it happily, lost, having worked all the way to it
Knowing there's no point in treasuring a little of the day
If tomorrow it may rot into regretful memories
I've heard so many poems
that compare lovers to drugs.
there is no denying that
they're beautifully written,
but why do we always
write about the addiction,
and never about the recovery?
I already know how
I became addicted to
the feeling of your high,
but I need to know what to do
now that I've already taken you.
how do I get over you
if I can't get you out of my veins?
It is quiet in this big house,
The loneliness is magnified
The silence is astoundingly loud
Addiction knocks on the door
It doesn't matter if I don't let him in
He's always had a spare key
Silently he slips in
Hello old companion
"Mr Xanax, how are you today?"
"I am fine", he replies
"And I am going to make you feel fine"
frozen to death
its all i can see
smoke in the ear calls to my feens
Im here and Im there
making it hard to breathe
back and forth
falling up but always jumping back down
why or what can make this be seen.
I’d like to think in another life time we were happier together.
In a alternate universe we’ve made it.
It was not the mistake of I got married young and regret it.
This is a case of I fell in love with a addict so hard he became my addiction. That while he was busy with what he wanted to consume- I let him consume me. That’s just not how love should be.
It wasn’t like the books which I wasn’t even going to hold you too.
It just hurts my chest to think about the promises you made. The children we could have had. The family you soberly dreamed of.
Reality was too hard for you. You couldn’t accept the fact that I didn’t want to get between you and ****** anymore. You thought it meant I stopped loving you. For a while maybe I did? But ever since you left I still wake up on the same mattress we first slept in. I don’t know if your side of the bed will ever be warm again.
I just hope you make it through this life, you should get a better ending.
My inability to stop my self, it is showing
It is a compulsive disorder, nothing can stop me now
I cannot control my self, I've tried million times
Resisting this urge, it is increasingly difficult
Mind won't listen, and hands don't too
I've searched your name in every space of internet
Learn new things is an accomplishment,
Look through the same old, to understand you
I am obsessed, I admit
Find me cure of this addiction now
I cannot go on like this forever, or can I?
Let me know.
I am addicted to
rough *** and masochism.
I used to be addicted
I learned to live without the feeling
of a blade against my skin,
but now I need the feeling
of warm hands against my skin
where my blade used to be.
I'm not recovering.
I'm still hurting myself.
all that changed is the weapon
that I choose to do it with.
I try to do the best I can
Yet everything still falls apart
I end every day with the same problems
Working their way through my heart
Talk but you are distracted
We never find a solution
Stress poisoning the air around us
We keep breathing in pollution
Just keep ignoring the damage
Acting like we are fine
Blind to fact we are tiptoeing
Dangerously on a thin line
Me pretending that I don’t notice
How close we are to the edge
You don’t seem to mind the risk
Associated with the ledge
You attempt to understand
Why I live with such fear
But can’t change the speed you move at
Or switch into a lower gear
Don’t hear my worried murmurs
Cries fall upon ears rendered deaf
If you continue wheeling and dealing
Soon nothing will be left
Destroying me one piece at a time
As you throw your potential away
Hoping in time you will see the truth
Before it’s too late to stop decay
I hate the lifestyle we live
On a train bound for Kentucky Bourbon
Sat a preacher, a ******, and a business man
The ****** on his way to see the sand
The preacher prepares for his next sermon
The young ****** approached the man in the suit
He said this may sound crazy, but you look just like my dad
The man asked him to take a seat and talk about his roots
Young ****** told his story, he wound up in many places he believed were good, but ended up bad
As the night progressed the two shard a coherent bond
While in the back the preacher continued praying
Hours later the ****** woke up to the business man, who was unable to respond
They soon arrived to the town and it began to pour down raining
The preacher walked past the business man and the ****** said "father aren't you going to bless this man"
The preacher took a step back as if the ****** had lost his mind
The ****** still confused as to why the preacher wanted to leave the man behind
The preacher said "Son, I'm not sure how to tell you this, but no one else was in the van"
The ****** saw the sign Sunnyside Rehabilitation Center and he knew the preacher was never a preacher, and the business man was never in the van