Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
It's not that I want to fail. . .
just that, if I am going to anyway
why not do it spectacularly?

At least there's gossip. . .
that counts for some,
-thing, doesn't it?

Doesn't it?
The collective mind is a wave pushing those resisting over and
pulling them up into it, to share the surf, to see the shore, again.
Ever notice
those
soap bubbles
when sliding down
the sink toward a
-drain?

They either
join each other
at the rim
or
separate themselves
and go down
the -drain?

Seeming bubbly until
there is water,
no longer soap,
not quite
water?
Desultory; Roving, unmethodical, random, moving from one thing to another(superficial). Like a drug addict.
Jasmine Reid Oct 2018
Swallowing pills
                            again
                         ­              &
                                           again
Trying my best to get high again on the feeling, drugging myself up to remember the feeling of your lips, your warm touch, and inhale your deodorant, that succulent scent.

I want to be sleepless, and think in the night. And be happy, or sad, either one works
But I guess I just want to remember I’m alive

Happy,
             Sad,
                     Nostalgia that drains me, happy memories turning into sour nightly thoughts.

I think of the dark night sky, and I thought there was once stars in your eyes, yes, maybe.

You made me higher than I’d ever been, and I miss you my dear dear happy pill
Druggo right here, am I right?
Annie Jul 2018
Still remember the words he wrote,
"I see my life vanishing in cigarette smoke."
Young, old soul
Ranting about the hearts he had broke

Can't help but see him when it rains,
Standing in the corner of the road -a smiling face

Too many years had passed,
Heard he was fighting in a rehab,
Such a dear friend –but time moves fast


We laid him down to rest,
Six feet under, I know he did his best

A friend is a friend,
When hearts break, you ought to mend
But when they leave,
Make sure love's all you send
In memory of a friend we lost to drug addiction.
Tommy Randell Dec 2017
I light your candles, I like the light
But every source these days is less than a little bright
When in that orangey glow
Nostalgia for the old days grips me by the throat

You see I hear you as you read
Watching your lips subvocalize my words
Your low IQ bends you to my need
This is about as obvious as Poetry occurs

You read you feel, that's my transaction
I get off on watching you burning bright
Like some ****** in an abreaction
I light your candles, I like the light

I supply, you participate
As the reader you have free will on your side
You can take or leave it at the Page
Or you can Inhale and risk the ride

But not here, meet me in another place
Somewhere darker, a more personal space
Somewhere I can truly light your fire
You to become my addict, I to be your supplier


Tommy Randell 18th December 2017
Someday there will be Cafés set aside where Poetry, openly transacted as the drug it is, will be legal and safe and not hi-jacked by a few for their own ends.
Francie Lynch Jan 2017
If he says one day, he takes seven.
Does he know it shortens his life.
A two month job takes a year off him.
His runs to the lumber mill, and beer,
To the hardware store, and tokes;
Then to the beer store,
And smokes.
Sometimes, not often, but occasionally,
Whiskey and wine,
With beer.
And the morphine for his back... whew!
Seven to one ratio sounds true,
but poor odds.
In his favour, he's below average
in height,
like a small dog,
it helps longevity.
In most small dogs,
In what we call the Free World,
With government assisted suicide.
There's a call coming in.
George G is building a shed
Out back.
Gotta go.
So it begins, and how?

With fear and anxiety.
The energy that would be surging through you if you chose the path that you are thinking of, is already giving you a preview of whats to come.
Sober minded your body goes into over drive and adrenaline fills your nerves and brain and heart with static and sweat. You battle back and forth, because you know the danger and the out come. But the fight is meaningless because the Ego has chosen long before you even thought you had a choice to make.

To put it off would be like to feed a fire.

You lay down to try to overcome the intentions already giving bid with in you, without your will. Tears threaten to well in your eyes and the feeling of hopelessness and emptiness is quite prominent. You wonder to yourself how you have found yourself in the palm of something so much more powerful than yourself.
Thrashing and turning, because all positions are uncomfortable and futile, as long as you don’t give into the brat with in. The child like side of you who begs for Methamphetamine as you used to beg for candy at the grocer, knowing today may as well be the last day you could ever have it is beginning to fit within.

Your lover can not see the fight within you because he is looking at you from the outside from with in his own battle field...

The fight is beneath the skin.

You battle with right and wrong, going to pray to god, but then stopping yourself…. “Do i truly want to ask god for help with this? isn’t it a bit redundant to ask my god to save me from something i keep feeding my own flesh too.” As if The **** were a hungry animal, or perhaps its more about the addiction than a substance. Today **** is the substance, tomorrow it could be something other than that. You feed off of that which is out side yourself for satisfaction and it only brings further trauma. You can kick your feet and threaten to take sleeping pills, but your EGO wont allow a sleeping antidote today, because in this situation that could work in controlling it.

Not like in strictly emotive situations were sleep just hinders your ability to work out things with others.

No a sleeping pill could completely stop the cravings and send you into a trance of dreams about your inner issues. This is not going to be allowed. You are not in control. You have never been, but the substances Man has created have found themselves in the hand bag of the devil. And they offer item and tool for control. Like We have established. You gave up your power of decision when ever you fed into the egos beck and calls. Whispering your name and stories of pleasure and connection. A peace and happiness most human form has never known,

A jarring of the spiritual body and a quickening of death.

The mirror is beginning to look like a grave yard.

Your death is stenching the air and the clock is ticking. have you given in to the whimpering of your body and minds physical call for this drug you so enjoy in sin. Not quite yet but cracking is inevitable you know you have already chosen and any sliver of hope is falsely studied being whisked away so as not to interfere with the plan of Lucifer in this biblical story. When you announce that indeed the decision of methamphetamine is the one you chose.
(however you do not chose this, because to be driven for falseness truly is impossible. You have been lead a stray and know not truth.)

Immediately the guilt has already set in, before any actions are made on the decision your heart is calling out, is this right, to hurt my self in pleasure so temporary. Is this right, do i love my father an mother truly or have I even met them at this point. You lift yourself up off the bed and when your lover goes to follow suite

you can’t help but feel as an untrue Shepard tricking innocent sheep to follow her into the wolves den.

Would we both be fed on by the evils of this world. And if one of us is not, then is the other saved. But if one of us does, then both are doomed? Who I am to make choices lone, and am I at all.

When you lean off the bed you fall down the rabbit hole, seeing your love fall in right after you. you keep your eyes on the sky line at the top of the pit because already you are filled with remorse. You clutch your lover because already you crave their forgiveness.

Who does this demon belong to, was it yours or mine, or never either of ours.

Ridden with guilt for not only the fall of herself but eve is bothered that she is to blame for the falling of Adam. Are any of us to truly blame besides that scoundrel The Satan, and then if we blame him is it really only displacing the blame which truly should be laying on both our hearts each. Should we stow this mistake in the flesh and muscle like some prized possession or release it now before its set in.

And then If i asked for repentance and the reversal of my inertia would that prayer be granted, and if it was would i feel

blessed, or robbed.

I am reluctant to ask for help from the Most high even though i am most literally at my death bed when ever considering the life of christ. And if i can not request the light of God in fear of having a certain evil taken from me what does this make me?

You exit your house, haven of safety far away from all evil except the most irresistible, Oh Sweet Satan, or My sweet Mind, with so much potential and ideas, the power held with in my satan may very well be equal to that of the power of my Living Christ. And is this then why it is so difficult for triumph to meet me in the fields of mammon. How can I awaken My own Jesus to take the Methamphetamine to the cross along with his brother, The Satan so that for once, the evil will repent for His sins, and see in truth why suffering is coming from all of his biddings.
Dusting off the rabbity
that squirrely tempo anxiety,
closing in with night.

The irresistible pattern
the irrational illogical fight
a battle with one’s discipline,
mirroring our might.

I make it home a fluttering
belly twirled and muttering,
I tell myself tis alright!

The damage done, and everyone,
I’m just like them and millions more
succumbing at the Devil’s door.

And the taste, the burn,
the healing calm,
the shaking and the thinking gone.

Knock one back, slam out another
night is early, rock it brother,
Tying on a swilly swirling
buzzed-out brain and mind a twirling. . .

“Ahhhh…”

I feel better now, exhilarated,
exasperation falls to stout resound;
I pour again and knock it down!

“Ahhhh…”

Spinning now, not to say I’m spun
but choosey choosing several a pun
I see myself an accomplished one!
Yes, that’s it, that is me,
look upon with thoughts of glory
yank open the freezer for glass that’s hoary. . .

How cool am I? certainly not boring
all night I’m here, pouring, pouring. . .

Buzz subsides, thoughts slow too,
lurid leering, slobbering swearing,
stupid actions and nothing new?

I lose the bottle,
I lose my shirt,
***** on myself,
pass out in dirt.

Another night of drunken hero,
time that’s wasted for kingly Nero.
But who am I to judge myself?

I’m hardly worse than anyone else?
Alison Shulman Mar 2016
I think I may be becoming a functioning drug addict
although I don't know if it's technically an addiction if the doctors still giving it to me, or that's what I say anyways because I don't want to admit to anyone that I might have a problem
because if I admit it they might take it away
and I don't want that

I know that sounds like something a drug addict would say but I don't really need them all that much, I just like them for when life gets hard
and I can't handle the world
and I don't feel like a person
they bring me back to normal

you decided to text me after we hadn't talked in 7 weeks 6 days 15 hours and 39 minutes and my heart sank to my stomach and I felt my breathing stop and I chewed up two tiny little pills because I needed to work and be a functioning person that day

when I finally responded you said you were just wondering how I'd been and even though I've been well before now all I could do was cry so I chewed up six more in an attempt to get you off my mind and I fell into a dreamy paradise where nothing was real, not even me

I had dinner with my grandma and as an appetizer I had two more tiny white pills so I could mask the face that would tell her how much I've been thinking about death
I think it worked

I wrote a note in my journal saying to only take 2 so when I couldn't sleep that's what I did but I found one in my bed and so I took that one too and I drifted off into nothingness without you rattling around my brain

I think I may be a functioning drug addict, but I'm not ready to tell anyone because I'm not ready to stop
Next page