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I've heard so many poems
that compare lovers to drugs.

there is no denying that
they're beautifully written,

but why do we always
write about the addiction,
and never about the recovery?

I already know how
I became addicted to
the feeling of your high,

but I need to know what to do
now that I've already taken you.

how do I get over you
if I can't get you out of my veins?
Coop Lee Oct 12
[this is just an intro course: a 101 on death and dismemberment.]

we were looking to get high.
delilah and i.
higher than high.
& she knew a guy who knew a guy
who got tapped by the bonesmen a semester or two back,
or so she says.
he had all the goodies; coke, nangs, and dust.
& a small yacht, for a moonlit ****.

             chew this ripe ‘lil nub of apricot plucked,
             it’s a gland in fact,
             best consumed fresh,
             just before death.

high tide, wide eyed, sped on adrenochrome.
we ****** all night, felt god, ****** god,
were god.
thanks,       god.

he said this batch was called “sisters of mercy.”
named for the nuns who farmed it
from orphan kids’ kidneys.

         there are two truths.
         two chakras to pulp.
         one for the masses – schizos & scope –
         the other for the monarchs – the princess & pope –

pineal or adrenal.
house of the moon.
                       or
                    vintage, house of blood.

hit the white rabbit.
the mythic psychedelic.
clot. frazzledrip. drencrom.
chromata bomb, have it pure
or synthetic.
pick your path and pray, business or pleasure.

              you know too much,

she said.
& i was dead before the end of the semester.

the genteel men about town prefer to cup the blood.
at least a tarp to preserve the rug.
                           “treasure your blessings, for this is the life. “
                                                               they incinerate the leftover flesh,
                                                                ­               save for a bone or ear,
                                                scattered in the woods at the edge of town
                        for a saturday morning mystery kind of kid to have found.

first son proselytized    – half-past jesus –
second son convoluted      – by the dark lord jeebus –
tricks &/or treats.
sacraments of cancer.
to cultivate within him that harsh old matter.

town & teachers & nurses & nuns.
all watching.
all whispering.
all ******* beneath the desk along your thigh.
take a walk to the library.
fifth floor,
section c,
aisle 3,
somewhere between rites & rituals.
blood opens the gate.
adrenaline opens the dream.

                        hit the white rabbit.

        he abducted a drifter/
        or saint, by the throat
        like an eggplant brought him to the threshold.
        idled there,
        for the conduit to unlock.
        cut/
        the horror from his        .
        pulled him apart at the ribcage and sac
        just to recover one sacred gland.

he was a luciferian wasp.
or a vampyr in seersucker shorts.
just a man with a taste for blood.
took a bullet to the brain either way,
a man with a hole in his head.

can i simply go on vacation from all this existential dread?
just slip away for a day or two?
Maybe I am following a light,
A junction from where I took right
Some days I'm just chasing a high,
Is it just some words arranged tight
Or is it chastising yourself through the night?
For when the sun is shining bright,
I love taking my emotions for a flight.
I'm not hunting for any limelight,
Nor do I have any foresight.
I'm just driving through the misery and the plight,
Knowing I will always stop at a red light
Like a deer in the headlights
I'm trying to be my self-guiding light,
Try as I might.
Sometimes we don't even need a reason, but for days when the reasoning is strong, it must be upheld and respected. Cheers to all kinds of poets :)
JRF Sep 28
Shadowed behind
riped curtains
& moonlight punching.

Reflecting soul.
It flows like gold
as you pour it over me
Eyes shut tight
Heart torn
But beating again.

Climbing down
From our high
Scratched
Breathless
Wearing only
Lines of sweat.
Healing is important, protecting is essential, loving is the easy part.
Will Sep 24
Blazing down the midnight streets, driving faster with every beat.
The higher the mile, the bigger the smile.
At this great speed, they felt at peace.
Hoping that it would finally allow them to outrun their life of greif.
Lights flicker, fingers numb.
It hurts so much.
Knives claw through the memories.
Faster.
"Please!", they cry out.
Fingers release, speeds increase.
There it was.
Clarity.
"Amy is right, Chad ***** major ***!"
She drove her pink Hummer to the sorority house.
"Yaaaaas, Queeeeeeen!"
They yelled.
"Chadsworth is gone!"
Cheers went round and their souls rebound.
But Chad was near, he always was, because Chad was an interdimensional demon.
1063629 was it's /name/
Sorority in flames, ladies Instagraming the pain.
1063629 sees this and claims
"/names not found/ feel pain! Emote!"
Empty space.
1063629 cries.
It is alone again.
Soul shattered in the war of JPSL20.
Alone in shame of loss.
Tears of an interdimensional demon.
Like glue.
Glue.
I love you too.
Glue cracked the sky.
Crazy glue.
Stuck on you.
Glue cracked the earth.
Hades ruptures beneath.
Hellspawn rise up from the shattered surface realm.
Glue.
The new savior lost, in a battle with the demon 1063629.
In 46-70 the Lord of Demetrius defeated the beast once known as; 1063629.
Glue was the cure.
Earth sealed with glue.
I was maybe a little high. But it was fun to write!
Slime-God Sep 5
Higher than ever,
my heart rolls down a river.
Carried by the smoke.
Amanda Sep 3
He is taking his chances
Wasted his life chasing a buzz
For years the only things that mattered
Were money, power and drugs

He kept running after the high
Gotten from clout and respect
Phone blowing up 24/7
Altered by success

And he can't imagine a life
Other than fast and fun
No matter how far he goes
The distance is never enough

So he falls and spirals down
To the bottom he heavily crashes
And he struggles to climb out of the hole
As his body crumbles like ashes
I seldom write it the third person but just felt like doing something different
cleobug May 2018
my love, my sweet, this pulsing beat
ringing in my ears
a heartbeat in my stomach
head heavy and  d r a g g i n g
nodding out, nodding off
getting off
she did
who did?
jill, jacking off
hijack my life
jumpstart my words
I am plugged in
ready for the ride
shaking fits, out of control
can't help it
help me
things are spinning X
i guess this is why they call me
blackout girl
i wrote this some time ago while high
joel jokonia Aug 29
I know you play a lot, work a lot and proly can't tell it apart.
So after working games and playing work
you sat down wrote **** while smoking poetry.
Not aging with every hour that went by.
But by and by you grew high,
oh my 70years high as the **** withers old and is cremated white ash scattered in the sea of dust.
Wisdom is a ****
420
That Girl Aug 29
I enjoyed dancing with you while you were drunk.
I was stone cold sober.
Unless my prescriptions counts as a high.
I got drunk off you.
Your hands around my waist.
It actually feels like you want me.
But you’ll forget about this in the morning.
Until then I’ll enjoy you slurring sweet nothings in my ear.
Your lips touching mine.
I've never drank beer but I’m guessing it taste like your lips.
Maybe I'll start.
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