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I can’t give it up.
I’ve tried so many, many times
To lift myself so high I never come down,
To never come back to what I’m hiding from.
Those same fears are sneaky
They lurk like sewer rats
The rats eat only fear
They only come out to eat whatever fear you feed them
The more you feed them, the more they want
The more rats show up for feeding time
Till you’re infested.
Poison ought to do the trick, you think
So you drink some
Just like resentment,
You drink poison to **** your enemies.
The rats are still there but they’re out of mind
At least tolerable for long enough for you
To go out and buy more poison to drink
To feed the rats more fear, to try to forget ‘em.
They have you by the neck
You feed them, more show up, they bring their friends
They breed. Now you’re steadily infested by the rats.
By now, drinking poison no longer makes you forget.
Rats gnaw at you. Their stench invades your breath.
Drinking poison dulls the pain
Numbs your nose to the stench
Just so you can somewhat put up with the rats.
Your resentment boils up further by the moment.
Adding poison to the fire only raises the flame higher.
You drink till you think you can’t feel it
The rats gnawing, your stomach turning at the stench,
The resentment towards the rats and now yourself.
Poison makes its way into your body
But those fears that fed the rats are still there
While you were so busy pretending
Those fears didn’t exist,
A terrifying list of problems has slinked its way in.
You’ve thought about giving up poison.
It makes you sick.
You forget forgetting.
Lost is a rotating vicious circle,
Your list of problems is stronger than you
It’s your worst enemy
You look at that poison on the counter
And you say “you’re all I have left.”
Maybe you don’t believe it,
Maybe you do.
You’ve crossed a threshold
Poison is slowly killing you
Or is killing you fast like a venomous snake?
Numbness is the only sensation you remember.
You drink poison not to numb anymore
But to feel something, anything at all.
You gulp it back to achieve pure oblivion
To reach the finish line faster and faster.
You’re not quite sure what being alive is
What it means or why it matters.
People? There are no other people.
They’re inconsequential.
You’re still stuck with the rats, the fears,
Everything you wanted to hide from and more.
Poison has become a symptom of every problem.
Poison is a problem.
You go for a day without it
You sweat, you shake, you puke
Your fear is worse than ever
The rats are more tortuous than ever
You’ve entered a new level of torment
Worst of all, you can’t put an end to it
You don’t know how.
The poison screams at you till you drink it.
It’s going to **** you if you don’t drink it.
Your body, the poison, neither let you stop.
A bottle creeps its way into your wallet
Down your throat
Your poison drinking career affects your ability
To function in all areas of life.
You know if by some miracle you stop chuggalugging
Everything you’ve been hiding from and more
Will be around the corner waiting to jump you
When you stop poisoning yourself
Only then, they’ll bark louder than ever
Louder than the worst day before you started poisoning yourself.
There’s no way out, no different path.
You’re hopeless. There are no options.
What is there to take away the pain?
Facing it head on is impossible when you’re poisoned.
Poison and problems are eating away at you
Twenty-four hours a day.
Ending the race, calling it quits
Or a different type of poison seem like the only choices
But maybe at this point you’ve already shopped through
All the available poisons and arrived at the same plateau.
You realize the only way your poison will take away the pain
Is if you drink so much it kills you.
There’s no poison strong enough,
no distraction great enough to make it all disappear.
Attempts at bettering yourself are futile.
Death is imminent.
When you’re feeling brave
You welcome it, embrace it, invite it
Like embracing an old estranged friend
Dropping out of the race seems nice
But you’re too afraid to die.
Your life is death
- Only you can decide what happens next -
Sydney V Dec 2019
Here, in this village,  
I, am unpigmented canvas  

my suburban skin,  
unfamiliar.

Where the trees
bleed colors of resurgence  

into the vacant
and vibrant damp,  

dark, earth below  
to begin and paint again.
If I could attach the photo I took of Avalon Village I would... Once again, dabbling in the realm of ekphrastic poetry and making use of extended metaphors.
Beth Garrett Jul 2019
60 days down the road till I am,
rippling like a pond for you,
make me writhe with wet storm clouds shaking my horizons sending waves,
still me with heavy heat summer days where nothing moves and earth is coarse with love and honeyed thick air,
move me gently with a cool autumn breeze soft mornings strolls,
commence my tides to enter and draw back steadily day after day never quit pushing me out and pulling me in,
the moon and the wind fight bitterly over who owns the water who moves who stills,
But i am tuned to you alone.
I’ve always felt a connection to water and in this poem I wanted to explore that in the lens of my relationship, I had a lot of fun writing this
mj May 2017
That tree that stood tall...
 
Years of knowledge ingrained in its ligaments...
(Numerously choked by its own rings)
 
I still see our carvings...
(The haunting scars imbedded deep into the bark and our memories.)
 
Hieroglyphic memorials for our first everything...
(The dates of which things died.)

The knot furled into its center...
(Forget-me-nots decaying at its very roots.)
 
Do you remember?
(How hard was it to forget?)
Racquel Davis Jul 2014
His efforts were altogether one big joke,
And the punch line was his ego.
I could no longer stand this clown,
Nor the balloon animal between his legs.
Every now and again, I picture myself
Stuffing him into a tiny car,
And watching it drive over a cliff.

©Copyright 2014 Written and Edited by Racquel Davis
Samuel Fox Feb 2017
I fancied burning;
nursed charred fingertips
from placing them between.
lips. I enjoyed love warm.

Love was easier
to kindle with friction
under sheets pre-lit,
shaped by body-heat.

Somewhere, an oasis
is brushing her hair,
is rippling with light,
lush with a fleeting smile.

I found her in autumn
laughing like a creek.
Her hair the color
of poplar leaves afloat.

She, restless, cascading
away and sometimes
over me, cannot
be contained readily.

My other lovers:
they were forest fires,
were all holocausts
filled with sharp facets.

An oasis is still sharp
to the taste. Her kiss
smooth: I can feel it
douse memories of cinders:

her eyes turn soft with mist
within my scorched daydreams.
Wrote this for a friend/lover.
Alijan Ozkiral Aug 2016
The Gazelle, forced down to the bed
Her cries, filling inside her womb
Her crimes, fester over her body
painted like an open wound.
What crime is being prey—
What sin is weakness,
to be smited by The Lion?

The Gazelle, pinned across the bed
Clawing — shrieking — kicking —
The Lion is stronger still.
Thoughts of God bring thoughts of repent.
And today — tonight — tomorrow, The Lion leads her sermon
The Gazelle pleads mercy.
The Lion consumes her.

The Gazelle, lying vacant on the bed
Apologies fill the stagnant air
Regret — wrath — sorrow stains the sheets.
The Gazelle knows not what made the full lion feast.
Her blame is hers, pointed inward and not out
The Lion leaves.
The Gazelle — torn — seeks The Hyenas.
Eunice Apr 2015
O ****** little skirt,
A red so loud it burns my skin.
Such fine floral patterns,
And thorns that split human skin.

Wanders on a hill of red and green,
Falls into the hands of men with no mercy.
Stretched and pulled and stretched and pulled,
Like liquor rushing into hot capsules.

O ****** little skirt,
Trembles in the dark closet.
Pleasure and pain,  pleasure and pain,
Share the same red unmade bed.

O ****** little skirt,
Keep bleeding, keep bleeding.
O poor ****** little skirt,
What have you now?
Andrea Fann Aug 2014
i love apples
      and hotdogs

but they don't go together

they aren't meant
       to have one future
This is meant as an extended metaphor - just stop for a second and take a moment to think about it.

— The End —