Rob Sandman Dec 2

Started off simple you were smokin joints with your mates,
14years old hangin around at the school gates,
a juvenile delinquent,little pain in the ass,
a father at 15 grew up way too fast,
the Irish system failed you,kicked you out at 16,
moved in with your girl,a baby raised by 2 teens,
no real education so crime is your path,
tried your hand at a blag+ended up in pats(Irish Juvenile Detention),

So whats the matter sonny? life's not like the flicks,
criminals get caught,so get used to the nick,
but fuck it now you're 18 thinkin' you're an O.G.,
and when you end up in the joy(Mountjoy Prison) you say listen to me,
got your apprentices in robbin,sellin poppin off fightin,
feelin like a crime titan,think you're Irelands mike tyson,
do a few more blags court dates count up,
another girl gets pregnant so the problems mount up


"I've seen the needle and the damage done, a Syringe in a Vein is like a loaded gun"

You could get a job,but fuck that work's for dopes,
you spend your days dodging court dates,bangin' out dope,
snortin coke with your mates,all hard as nails,
while the real crims sit back and count their sales
all you are is a customer,forget the smiles,
there'll be another fool parted from his money in a while,
your mate johno flipped out from a long coke binge,
now he's sittin in the john o gods(Christian Rehab centre),shivering and cringin',

That'll never be you,you got a real game plan,
got a cousin who's a driver on Securicor vans,
so you hire out a shotgun,on with the bally(Balaclava),
hit the van in broad daylight,and run for an alley,
but guess whats waiting? a Special Branch team(Armed Gardai),
get the fuck on the ground! is what they all just scream,
now you're banged up bigtime,a 10yr stretch
got your first bag of gear(Irish name for Smack) from a kid named fletch

CHORUS.
"well every cloud's got a silver lining  these years,
the only silver you see is tin foil for your gear,
you gave your life for a buzz that passed way to soon,
its only now you get to see the dark side of the spoon"



well its release day,Seven years down the line,
three years in remission for good behaviour time
went in the Joy a teenager,comin out a man,
with a habit that's longer than a nuns,god damn
went from hash and pills to a sharper doom
your life's over,now you're on the dark side of the spoon

so you slip into the underworld,but no more blags,
robbers don't trust junkies,and your hooked through the bag,

you whine about your bad breaks,how you coulda been big,
cos you're a shadow of yourself man,smack is a pig
you're too busy to contemplate,its rob,rob,rob,
and your arms are fulla craters,so there's still no job,
you got your girl hooked too man,ain't you great,
you look at life through eyes gummed up with hate,
social welfare have put you on a methadone course,
but that shits just as bad,it just makes you worse,

your lifes flying by now in a haze of drugs,
morphine,Oxy,blueys(Valium) anything for a buzz,
Skip on a few years...shit what does it matter,
days pass like mist,the gears all that matters
your girlfriends screamin' ,babies long gone,
for both of you the needle sings a sad sad song,
look behind ya - your progress is as straight as a die,
another Irish junkie fuckin up your life til you die,


The smack dealers are laughin' ,Politicians don't care,
you're a skinny,pale sweaty robbin' smack nightmare,
you gave away your whole life for the solace of a spike,
it didnt cost 4million,its cheap,it cost a life(the Spire in Dublin cost 4 Million(at least) to erect, and is coloquially known as "The Spike")

who the fuck can you blame?,you made your own decision,
when you first creased a vein with a simple incision,
infusion of the drug is all you care about now,
the Dark side of the Spoon,there's no way out now


Well every clouds got a silver linin' but these years,
the only silver ya see is tinfoil for your Gear,
gave your life for a buzz that passed WAY too soon,
life's over now, you're on the Dark side of the Spoon

Chorusx2,fade.

This is a distinctly Irish view of the Heroin/Opiate Epidemic,
I wrote it over ten years ago and have lost many friends through Overdoses,Disease and misadventure since then,
I have explained some of the "Irish Slang" in it, but hope that people will take the rest in without needing crib notes!,
I am always available to talk if anybody feels that ANY Drug is getting the better of them,
I offer non-judgemental non denominational common sense advice to all,
If you would like to see and hear The Dark Side of the Spoon put to music with a Slideshow video I put together many years ago here is the link,
please comment and let us know what you think!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=osgodk0H7Ko
Seline Mui Dec 2

Her anxious legs, her body feels the absence of the last smoke, the last snort.

She preps her shot thinking it will be boss but down the drain she goes.

She'll fight her mind, her body, her spirit, but doesn't know which way to go.

So her body decides, as she's screaming in her mind, let me go, let me go!

She preps the needle with the spoon as her priorities are left in the dust.

Everything ice cold but not that hole in her arm, it's slowly trickling out blood.

Seconds bring instant comfort, relieving her restless body and anxious mind.

She cannot bear the withdrawals that come along dragging her behind.

A sharp spear laced in poison detracting delicate skin to bruises and scars.

Unit, by unit, her shot dissipates and every inch of her eagerly awaits to embrace the rush of the high.

As time slips by, the high subsides and she is dry, all insecurities exposed in bare sight.

Panic..on the search..broke..fiending..stealing..robbing..lost loved ones..manipulation..broken promises..

The curse gets worse. It's meaningless synthetic comfort, the happy juice she can never refuse fills her receptors, a matching piece to fit the puzzle

The feeling can't be beat, a silent stream reminding her in her dreams creeping into the sunrise bursting with a desperate scream.

Worry and panic demands her full focus and the lies and deceit don't stop until fear of not having money has subsided. Begging and crying, playing the victim with no rest until she got her fix.

She's not happy, she feels dead. Synthetic pleasure breeds depression, and she's cannot function on her own, she disregards her responsibilities and continues to fail

Her presence overdue, regularly absent she won't pass, she'll miss out on every opportunity or simply won't care for consequences.

Dope is her only interest, where she pours all her energy and effort, she even proposed to forever be a servant, for what she loves most.

So much aggressive energy to remain living, guilt-tripping her lover into enabling her, she get's what she wants.

Time and time again until she drains his resources, with nothing left to give, he starves.

Confusion blocks her judgment as she believes the sickness is out to get her, but she has exhausted her funds too, tired of depending on her dope dictator, wishing to be free from the physical and psychological deterioration.

Her best friend heroin left her for dead, locked her in a cage kicking and screaming.

How much do you really love me?? Fight for me and score some more the funds to feed the fire, exhausted, not a dollar to my name.

Validate me, i'm what you need. I'll give you hugs and kisses, dreams of the childhood you never had.

Leave it all in the past because i'm the high that leaves you in a fragile state, mistake by mistake it's the price you will pay.

Near and far, nodding in and out, constantly chasing the dragon. Familiar pleasure filling the lungs provides the sense of stability blocking out pain and discomfort.

Oblivious to the vicious demise quietly poisoning your body, draining your youth as your life is dictated where the abstinence of dope exaggerates the sickness that overruns as you lose control of your life and question your purpose.

Losing touch with reality, addiction becomes erratic-out of control. You don't recognize the face in the mirror anymore, a slave to an demanding lifestyle draining you from the inside out.

Not sure your reason to keep living, hoping one day you can beat your disease never looking back. The day came, you're tired, you've given up, you need out. Looking back, you've accomplished not a single thing.

Only getting older with more expectations, forced to revaluate your progress, found out to be limited to none. You're so done.

Running with open arms into recovery is the only chance you'll succeed, and to breed your goals and dreams you need to believe. To put in your effort and defeat the beast thats waiting for the chance you slip up and bleed.

Take one day at a time, this is a must, far from simple , but you need to trust.

In yourself, a higher power, an inspiration, will be the motivation to reclaim your life back, claim true happiness, and become the best version of yourself

this is a poem about my personal battle with heroin addiction, hope you enjoy!
M Ann Murray Nov 27

My heart wasn’t worn on my sleeve;
It was dangling in front of me, on a string.
I used it as bait for strangers and passers-by;
She caught it then, in the middle of my Hurricane.

I was dangling in front of Her, on a string.
So She locked me in a tower, but let me keep the key.
She had caught me then, in the middle of my Hurricane,
As I was waiting for someone to rescue me.

A Princess locked in a tower, but still I kept the key.
Instead of giving my heart to the prince, I fell for the Dragon.
While waiting for someone to rescue me,
I should have been saving myself.

Instead of giving my heart to the prince, I stayed true to the Dragon:
Destructive addiction, so sweet going down.
When I should have been saving myself,
I climbed on the Dragon and we, together, flew away.

November 15, 2017
Natália Nov 16

Captain of her fate
Heroin of her own
She was no longer the poet
She became the poem.

Sonder: The realization that each passerby has a life as vivid and complex as your own.

I have known this fool from half way through high school,
And the best part about it is watching the fool replace himself
With the will of gods that only exist in myths,
And the strength of a thousand dead martyrs.
And it's gonna get harder man, it's gonna get a lot harder-
But the longer you remain,
your bones will begin to hold the secrets
On how to kill your demons.
The longer you remain,
The endorphins will drift from your veins
And your soul will take their place.
In 2017, at this age,
What normal human being isn't coping with these societal traditions
By forcing their brain into addiction?
These are ancient laws of man, transcending modern knowledge.
Evolution made us capable of questioning our origin or divinity,
And some dare say that an imaginary man gave them this gift of sight;
Societal traditions to condition us into complacent perpetuation of the history that enslaves us.
Lately I haven't been able to hold one train of thought without
Going off the rails, but instead of crashing and burning,
I just travel at the speed of light around all the answers
that could be right.
Ultimately you inspired me to say
I am so proud that you are here today.
With my brothers wild spirit tamed by opiates,
He lingers on my bicep in memorial form
He lingers in the prayers I whisper to the dead,
As gods do not hear your prayers.
(they are too busy creating universes and
punishing their own creations
for acting out of free will)
My prayers are answered by people I know,
Whose physical forms met quietus.
They live on in otherworldly favors,
They live on in signs and vibes.
There is more to death than meets the eye.
Tangent after tangent,
I shall come to a close.
My brother was lost to needle and tar:
He passed away at the grocery store,
In the emptiness of his only car.
My friend, you are not lost
And you are still with us.
I'm so proud you now know the cost
Of instantaneous gratification offered by
The murder drug.

I tried to show you who I really am,
But you couldn't accept It
You could only accept a  person who  would validate
The toxic and distorted myths
That this Society is built on.
So,   I eradicated  my authentic self
In order to be
A person who would continue to please you.......
A  person
Who would never  challenge
The false concepts you have
Of reality.

As I wrote this poem, I visualized the image of Kurt Cobain
Bryan Oct 19

SITTING, staring patiently
debating taking silent leave
to heave my bones toward reprieve
and shake off all that's shaking me.
SITTING, staring patiently
I see the demon's point in me.
I see it shine, I see it weep,
and see it when I go to sleep,
LAYING, waiting patiently.
Horribly, these foggy dreams
do more to please
than psyche needs.
I feel a presence gazing me.
LYING, waiting anxiously.
Now here it is debasingly
teasing me insatiably,
promising my every need:
LYING, hiding everything.
What do we call this foul disease?
This object overtaking me?
A spoon and needle raping me.
LOSING, hiding everything.

Kagey Sage Sep 16

He's drunk on dharma
and that's alright
Wouldn't want him to abuse
anything of substance anyway

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