Poetry is my choice of drug.
It gets me feeling very high,
Until I leap like a toad frog,
And make me feel alright.

Poetry is my feel good drug.
I Sniff for ideas like a dog,
It warms me up like a coffee mug
And make me float like a log.

Poetry is my ultimate drug.
I hit it hard, line after line.
Afterward, I just hit the rug,
Feeling very good and smile.

Poetry is my version of ecstasy
I party wild with many words.
And like a poet going crazy,
I just imagine and flaunt words.


© IB-Poetry
31/10/2018

punk music playing in the basement
heavy bass vibrating the walls
bacardi in a coffee mug
******* on a tiny mirror
hands on my thighs, *******
the rush sets
hands in my hair
eyes rolling back
he ***** on my neck
i light a cigarette

"my room."
he pulls my strings like
a marionette.
i know this
exchange of goods
very well.
i take another
bump,
eyes widening,
i can finally bear to
see the world.

he eats my ***** and
i feel N O T H I N G.
i gag on his **** and cry.
he strangles me
punches my ****
my *** cheeks
my stomach
he's getting his money's worth
he starts ******* me
drunken noise outside the bedroom door
in perfect rhythm
with the bass
and the headboard
against the wall,
every stroke hurts
my whole body
a wound.

i think about
a distant city
skyscrapers towering
above me like
mountaintops,
somewhere under
lights and stars
where i am happy
to be alive,
anywhere
but here,
this place
where death lives
and waits to catch
it's prey.

he moans
thrusts
shivers
it's over
i wipe mascara tears
take another bump
take another swig
i light another cigarette

he leaves the room
without a word
i follow
two steps behind him
covered in bruises
hickies
marked used
marked invaluable
a group of men
shout names at me
i block it out,
i really don't care
anymore.

this body
was meant for this
this body
doesnt matter
this body
is for getting what
i want
this body
is tired
and sore.

i have never done any kind of drug
until you came along

The first signs of an addiction:
Quickened heartbeat, dilated eyes—
I felt both the first time I saw you.

Soon we were associates.
I learned the sound of your voice.
I grew used to hearing it daily—
morning, afternoon, night.
It fed my soul, which craved attention.

I became enthralled with your existence.

before you, I was cold,
but your smile was infectious;
when you were truly happy, it radiated off of you
and ignited what I had long forgotten.

I held on to each word that rolled off of your tongue
as each syllable fed my addiction
and my desire consumed me.

Your gentle eyes were welcoming,
your presence comforting, even in my darkest times—
but as I fell deeper, the flaws began to reveal themselves.

You’re so arrogant; yet I want more.
You’re outspoken at the most inappropriate times
You’re selfish; you don’t think before you spring into action,
but I can’t help it—I’m enthralled with your power.
Your aggressive passion brings me excitement.

I fight for dominance against you
as we banter throughout the night
hoping that someday
I might escape from your siren song
and become your addiction instead.

For now, I sit and consume you until my lungs are filled—
until my mind is high enough to separate from your touch
so I may continue with my life for a brief moment.

You ruin me, but I can’t get enough.