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Nickolas J McKee Jan 2022
I wish I can find you a cure,
To heal everything I done wrong to you.
I wish I can give much more,
Knowing my love has always been so true.
I miss the way you used to laugh,
Knowing I’m here to always hold you strong.
Alas, what left of me is staph…
Burning needles under my skin and wrong.
It’s not your fault of me falling,
All done to myself a long time ago.
The bugs aren’t in me yet crawling,
My chemical romance you’ll never know.
So what of the days to all shine,
My heart blackened and praised a shrine?
inside the surreptitious
they're conducting quite disturbing

were the greater public to know  
what was going on at these
they'd certainly be wearing
very worried

keeping the people in
the pitch of
being the custom of the chemical
and bio-weapons

some nations are presently developing
a stockpile of
that maybe used on a population
with the intent of
Haruharu Jun 2020
Blinded by disease I lost sight of you.

Your words spoken by the voice of my demon.

I felt your love, though the intentions got twisted.

Your touch, familiar yet foreign.

I'm losing it again, reality.

My mind, a place of dark whispers.
Kamilla Jun 2020
I Plutonium, and you Cyanide
Both poisonous at touch
Yet, we each longed for a taste
I dreamt deadly dreams,
Of sweet Cyanide,
Bubbling up my skin
Rising up towards my neck
And my only thought was,
How pleasant
And you
You would speak highly of Plutonium
Admiring it’s properties
Knowledgeable of the damage it could cause
But, not aware enough to care
Eventually, we both met the same demise
Choked out,
Plutonium and Cyanide
Christian C Apr 2020
A brain chemically imbalanced.

How could taking two little white pills every morning
slowly but surely resolve eight years of major depression
ameliorate symptoms that strangle the mind and spirit,
destroying self-worth, competency, basic functionality.

Despite a set-back of a month of unstable, barely restrained
suicidal thoughts, whole-heartedly consuming every minute
of conscious thought and shattering already severely fragmented
sleep, the only repose from the onslaught of endless thoughts
each one affirming deservance and supplying means to an end.

The vile depression, mind-warping, heart-marring, shape-shifting,
perspective-rearranging, adapting to every new environment,
clawing its nightmare-grip further into my chest day after day,
haunting me even in its remission: the depression was sinister.

Body and brain scarred and healing, starved synapses react,
a regiment of medicine, taxing-thought, and long-scarce love,
but indisputably vital: taking two little white pills every morning
slowly but surely resolves eight years of major depression.

A brain chemically balanced.
"At last"
Poetic T Mar 2020
If love is a chemical imbalance, I'll always be dizzy for you
N Mar 2020
In the morning,
I plant a pill
on my tongue,
and it blooms
like a chemical kiss

In the afternoon,
I wash my face and
wounds with blood

At midnight,
the rain pours
on my pillow,
but I don’t weep

Every night,
I sleep in the burning house,
but cannot feel its warmth
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