Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Michelle Nov 22
It starts as a whisper, soft in my chest,
A thought unbidden, unkindly guest.
The urge to reach, to bridge the divide,
Where silence now stretches, too wide, too wide.

I pace the floor; I cradle my phone,
In this quiet war, I’m never alone.
Your name, like a needle, ****** at my brain,
Rewinding the reel of our joy and our pain.

Each old message, a relic, a hit,
I scroll through the past, scratching the itch.
The words are hollow, their warmth has fled,
But I cling to their ghosts like they're still being said.

My heart races faster, my reason grows dim,
This craving feels cruel, a fight I can’t win.
To press "send" would be bliss, a fleeting reprieve,
But I fight the withdrawal, cry tears on my sleeve.

So I silence the urge, let the moment decay,
And watch as the craving slowly fades away.
The answer’s not hidden in words I once knew,
But in learning to live without reaching for you.
The hammer is falling, my fists are clenching, my teeth are gnashing while my bones are crunching. Waves of pain are crashing, smashing against me, finally breaking. This level of pain can't be good to be taking, bad for my health. The voices are calling but no one is there, not even myself. My blood is pumping, sped by adrenaline dumping. The lack of the drug is inducing my mind to start seizing, both my legs are freezing, involuntarily quaking. The sensation of claws are slashing my back. As my heart keeps thumping, jumping around - heart attack? Now my blood is pooling. So the attack dogs keep drooling. They smell the blood and begin to whip into a frenzy, so I jump up, and run like McKenzie. Moving fast, as if I had wheels, one dog was faster and now nips at my heels. The dog bit my foot so I tripped and then fell. Now it’s gnawing on my leg, and I don’t feel very well. So I patted the dog’s head and then laid down for a spell…will I wake up? Only time will tell. When I come to my senses I won't feel at all well. Life hurts at times, unbearably so. If not for Divine intervention, I'd much rather go.
(Alright. So I took an older, rather cruddy poem, reworked and reworded it, retitled it and now it's a new rather cruddy poem, that's a whole lot less cruddy, and may even be alright in someone's opinion...my fingers aren't crossed though. But, it's much better [again, in my opinion], more specific than the original poem was and titled more accurately. I hope you find something of some value in there. It's satisfying to improve something that was previously much less than mediocre... 😄) Neat, I just looked at this after fixing typos and noticed it'd been "seen" 23 times (probably all from myself, checking the text again & again for errors).. that's just my favorite number, is all. 23. Neat. Oh! Music playing while writing, was Morphine's album, "a cure for pain". Excellent saxophone & slide bass!
Jamesb Aug 12
I am an old fashioned lover,
When I love I really
REALLY love,
Pour out all of me,
For and over and all about
The woman I adore,

And sometimes it has been
Worth it and wonderful,
Time and a journey shared,
And sometimes, truthfully?
Not so much wonder full,
So much as I really wonder why,

And then there's you,
Poured out over big time
Loved and adored to my detriment,
But sharing and reciprocation?
No, you were are and always will be

All about

You.
Sometimes love is jot enough. We cannot create a flame in a stone heart
Jamesb Jul 11
I have given you the bakery,
The flour mill,
The barn,
I have passed the keys and title
To these allegories of
My heart entire,
Placed them in your care,
Expecting the deeds to your
Estate at some point in return,
Your physicality,
Your romance,
Love
And your desire and yet
Your response is nary
A crumb,
Let alone a slice or a loaf
From even my own oven,
The flour that I have planted and grown,
And harvested and milled,
All counts for nowt,
So I'm folding those deeds away now,
And watching and waiting
To see what crop
You choose to reap instead,
What crop,
Which farm,
And indeed with whom.
This comes from an unexpected image arising in one of "those" conversations. As this poet at least has a habit of, I have rolled the dice beyond what actually happened. This verse is the result.
Sydney Mar 2021
Bloodline Meds are
The pills you need to take everyday
Like clock work
To continue to feel like yourself.

Sometimes you forget
but
somehow, you feel completely unchanged
you feel normal
your think you’ve finally beat it,

no longer a prisoner
no longer held captive by a specific milligram of
assorted medication

It’ll start slowly,
then it will hit you
like a ton of bricks.

cold sweats, aches, chills, nausea
feeling on the brink of death.

When you take bloodline meds
you have to decide
stay captive or go through withdrawal

Either option
you still lose a piece of
Yourself
Mona Nov 2020
instagram
my dear friend
i miss you

like a crack addict misses crack
i am in AA
on the emergency table i lay, frail

i feel my internal workings coming undone
i am locked out of the fun
i am tempted by my insatiable lust to run

run and run from myself
perceptions of moi
that i have conjured and cooked

laced extras with the crack, microwave
the crack, a transplant for my identity
expand myself for the many
so i could sell more
more of me in exchange
for love, the eternal currency
the currency i seek

on some level the extras i laundered
became me
identification with the mask
i have trapped myself between the future
and the past.
how long can this last?
دema flutter Oct 2020
my body
misses you
more than it can handle
the pain of the withdrawal.
Sammi Yamashiro Sep 2020
Caffeine.
Nearing addict
status; once spurned pure black
but now it’s my composition.
Jitters

my thoughts;
next round is scotch:
Next, I’m alcoholic.
Yet, withdrawal never latches.
I’m safe.
Two Cinquains. Describes how I overindulge in coffee (I once couldn't stand the taste of black coffee and now I can't get enough of it) and I fear that alcohol will do the same to me (I don't like the taste of it but maybe I'll love it too much like I do coffee). Yet, even with coffee, I can drink heavy amounts of it for days and be completely fine (not experience withdrawal symptoms).
So with my anxious thoughts, they seem like they will stick with me forever but in the end, I'll be fine.
Nica Monet Jul 2020
Love may be the toughest withdrawal
It fertilizes a garden and blooms the wildest—beautiful flowers.
It’s flourishes with enough love given to it,
as it decays in a catastrophic drought.
Nature needs care and its necessities to grow.
We grew a garden raising it up from the seed.
Withdrawals hit when the desire to revive the flowers and the browning of plant is no longer achievable.
No fertilizer.
No water.
Dry Soil.
The wanting to of seeing the flowers bloom again. The wanting of how the garden once looked.
The images of what the garden would have looked like. That is the toughest.
All i had to do was reach deep into what I have felt when a certain type of love leaves.
Next page