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Seline Mui Dec 2017
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 ****** 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 ****** addiction, hope you enjoy!
Politics and gain
Oh so vain
Have I ,would become

Offender and the offended
Are they same in the game

Where's the next bend
There seems to be no end

Mixed emotions
Run through the veins
Know not any retreat

A land unknown ,
No fear lays
Unknown, it forever stays

What if End comes
Untimely
I would be Ghost Writer
Please Read the lines
Nothing in between :))

Some odd thoughts
Tap Head May 2017
I live in a tin *** house
with clatter and clutter
and not an ounce of living space
my tin *** house is sad and sorry place.

Junk piled on furniture
and muck on the walls,
my tin *** house doesn’t get
many visitors at all.

The fence is falling down,  
the flowers dying in the heat.  
My tin *** house is such a mess,  
a tip could not compete.

The spider’s webs’
are the only thing that grows
and from the taps,
it's only cold water that flows.  

So yes, my tin *** house
is a sad and sorry place
and my tin *** family
is in a sad and sorry state.
raingirlpoet Mar 2017
i don't believe you know you're destined for great things
you
mishappen collection of supposedly broken parts
souls of shards and borrowed hearts
you
do not fly away so easily

junk angel
don't you know
you are not damaged nor irreparably dismantled
underneath your suit of armour
there you are
beautiful and breathing
you are alive

junk angel
remember your origins
and look at how far you've come
-
-z.z
Zero Nine Mar 2017
Used to be frail, and pale, weak inside now
the darkened leather of skin has done much
more than save my life.
It's consumed.
Dark steel armor has worn, formed rusted spikes
that slowly push to impale with blunted
and poisonous points.
I've inhaled
After one long, deep and drawn out sigh in
to twilight's heels, it feels as though it kills
to survive the night.

. . .

To survive tonight
Welcome to the party
Trash can lights light, illuminate
To survive tonight
Free junk and dry cardboard
Beckon, calling out names
That sound like yours
I had a lot of fun with this one.

I've lived in the area surrounding Portland nearly my entire life, and over time, I've realized its appeal is that it's just a big pile of junk. I can't help but think cardboard meets clean steel, skirts/suits meet black duster jacket and ****** crew.

Who the hell finds that appealing? I guess I do. I haven't wanted to leave yet. It does something to your insides, though. Literally and figuratively. I like being a rat.
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