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caity Jun 2023
it was simply
Something never before touched
hearing the pitter without echoes on your skin
but not deafening
without millions of howls
not crippling
without thousands of demands
it was simply
walks along the sand with nothing to hear
but his heartbeat
and my own
except I was doing laundry
and the waves were simply constructed

I would say ecstasy but that’s the wrong prescription
Skye May 2022
here we go again
the feeling of not feeling
the music without melody
the poem without metre

it all swims in my head devoid of emotion
these stanzas, those paragraphs, those conversations, that knowledge
they swirl and they shimmer but where has the tone gone
those non-verbal shades just evaporate like water

dickens, tolkien, tolstoy, plath
mozart, sheeran, queen, presley
van gogh, hirst, dalí, ito
nothing but noise when your heart isn't in it

now down some pills
write it down
go to sleep
and repeat this tomorrow.
Is this poetry or prose? That's for you to decide.
I despise the strict rules of conventional poetry.
In 2009, The american disaster film "2012" was released.
Preparing for "The End of The World" was easy.

A piece of cardboard at a Red Light.

"2012 The End Is Nigh, What's a dollar?"

We might as well have smiled, given a friendly wave,
honked our horns like we were passing the Freeport Flag Ladies.

In 2012, I was in high school with my first job.

I didn't care that In the twinkling of an eye,

we were gonna hear God's last trumpet.

On Rapture-Eve, I set out "Milk N' Cookies" for the "Left-behind"

I left next mornings outfit on the side of the road as if Angels abducted me ****-*** naked mid-stride

Turns out, the red light never turned green.

The "left-behind" kept breeding

and Hell on earth just kept recruiting

Now it's 2020,

The Freeport Flag Ladies are in Quarantine,

the signs have needles in our eyelids like mechanical spiders,

You can't even turn the news off now,

I pick it up at CVS Like a Controlled substance prescription.

They make you call in once a month to get it refilled.

Some how my amazing wife Amy and I

Not only survived the rapture,
we brought a brand new life into it.

For 10 days we were locked in a hospital

We never looked at the news.

The world melted away as we danced together

Waiting to meet our little miracle.

After Amy was whisked away for intensive surgery
and survived the most unspeakably amazing thing in the world
a nurse eventually grabbed me and asked if I wanted to meet my daughter,
I was guided to a baby table

with knobs, meters, heat lamps,

and on a tiny cushion

in a tiny plastic crib,

My daughter.

Sophia Naomi Mae Coulombe.

wide eyed

staring into my pupils



Now we are home.

No nurses, no IV.

Somehow it feels like the end of the world and all it's chaos
was the best thing that has ever happened to us.

Everything happened exactly when it needed too.

We couldn't have had better timing

if God planned it.
I would love any editing advice! I know this poem is raw and precious, but please feel open to being savage with the red pen!
Vellichor Aug 2020
It’s funny really
How I know the names of my poisons
Most people never know what they drank
Until it’s too late
But I take mine with food twice a day
Maybe that means I’m mad
Dvali Taytem Jun 2020
Lights haven’t looked like this
Since I was in my teens
Messing around with my hood rat friends
*** and amphetamines

I took a handful of Blue Dolphins
That were thirteen bucks a pop
If we bought ‘em in bulk, I guess
As we did more often than not

Or maybe a few of the triple stacks
Red something-or-others, I think
They didn’t work on me this time around
‘Cause I threw ‘em up in the sink

Now I am in my thirties
And my scripts **** with my brain
I know I am speeding my ***** off
But at least I feel like old times again
Drugs are bad, m’kay? The best explanation for what they do is that drugs aren’t “bad,” they’re awesome. They’re so awesome that they become all you want to do, and you’ll then do anything to obtain them. You’ll sell your belongings, your body, everything, because you want to feel good again. It isn’t the drugs themselves; it’s what they do to you and make you do for them.
I finally picked up my refill
And finally stopped running uphill.
I'd been out for days,
And was in a haze
That nothing could fix but my refill.

I finally refilled my meds, guys.
Last week I ran out of my supplies,
And I sunk like a brick
Into depression so thick
That it kept me from refilling my meds, guys.

At last I am back on my Adderall
And everything feels much more natural
I cleaned up the sink
And now I can think
About how good it is to have Adderall.
P.S. Sorry to everyone who took the brunt of my bs. Next time I have a breakdown about my *** life just tell me to refill my meds and leave me alone.
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Sumer is icumen in
a modern English translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This is an update of an old classic for those of us who suffer with hay fever and other allergies ...

Sumer is icumen in
Lhude sing achu!
Groweth sed
And bloweth hed
And buyeth med?

Keywords/Tags: spring, summer, hay fever, seeds, pollen, med, meds, medicine, achoo, stuffy, nose, blowing, ragweed, congestion
Empire Apr 2020
I just want to throw all the ******* pills
Out of the ******* window
But they’re the only things keeping me sane enough
To not slit my wrist open tonight
Empire Mar 2020
The pills work great
I still kinda want to cut myself
But I’ll fall asleep before I can unsheathe the knife
They make my brain all fuzzy....
And I breathe nice and slow
My heart rate is gentle, steady
Like I can feel my blood pumping smoothly, slowly
And I’ll feel like this tomorrow
But I’ll ignore it
Take some more pills
And I guess that’s life now
Sedated and aching
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