Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
ash 3d
millions of red threads
and yet the one that holds significance
tied around the little finger,
hooking me to you.
the red string theory—
fragile, probably a lie,
but doesn't it make you cherry?
 
glitter on my hands,
i'm no angel but i leave behind what i couldn't mend.
it sparkles, everywhere i hold you close—
skin placid, hissing almost under touch.
throw glances, lips curving to a smile,
you're enchanting, flickering alive.
 
what can i help with?
give away all i breathe,
i'll hand over all my pills,
stop injecting myself with words i can't speak,
pause inflicting pain upon scars that you won't ever seek.
 
dim lightning, darkened horizons,
drugged-up eyes, seeing through the glimmer.
my vision fades every time the needle pierces—
through my skin, i feel it pulsing,
leaving behind the sensation that slowly dulls away everything.
heaven and back, while rotting on the same couch,
i breathe in the smoke, ashes turning grey.
my hair sticks to my skin as i sweat through the blaze.
 
rehab never taught me how to exist.
being so undone, the remedy is sick.
prescriptions changing,
seldom any constants.
syringes filled with all that remains far from legal—
they call them drugs, is love any far behind in evil?
 
the kind of touch that leaves traces once it's gone,
hallucinations scripting out desires and thoughts and scenes that couldn't become.
withdrawal makes me crawl, no cure that could stop this spiral.
once the highs have been lived through,
the crash arrives as an aching breakthrough.
 
i cry in gemstones that rest in the corners of my eyes—
sitting, waiting, you can't detach them.
they strain towards permanence every time i sigh.
 
the back of the cab is filled with the blazing neons,
and it drifts through the street laced in LEDs and glistening homes.
i've got a pink heart vision,
the glasses leaving me to see stars on every face that carries
even the slightest seed of doubt—
anxiety etched to the masses,
they still envision.
 
i despise you've brought me back to this feeling—
the one i ran from, escaped, returned only to attach.
got me doing, fawning, sniffing white powder turning black.
 
my phone screen blips, lightning up,
the name repeating as i listen to the night come alive.
i'm too high, way too high to reply.
i tell you i was sleeping,
forgive me for my disguise.
 
cheap—cheap cheap.
i overdosed the wrong kind.
 
i look down at the bill,
see the name that wasn't meant to stay in the will.
the wrong wrong wrong addiction.
you failed me, cursed me, broke me—
it's my turn to accept this affliction.
 
shouldn't have—should have.
don't regret—all i do is regret.
ended, stopped, relapsed—now it's all red.
the stick in white in between my fingers,
lit at the end, vapour rising to the flimsy night air.
i sit on the sidewalk, watch the vehicles pass—
too dazed to care.

i'll stop existing, leaving no traces.
this shirt doing much less to stop the cold as it caresses my skin,
blankets the wounds, takes away all that i fear.
i shall move, get up, throw away the burnt-out ****,
walk away, the bottoms of my converses heading down the road to nowhere.
 
you won't even bother to map out the path.
i just know,
the cruelty and the false lies have long since encompassed you whole.
see what i am,
but you are way beyond my control.
chasing the wrong rush kills you in the long run
Zack Ripley Jun 29
There will always be reasons to quit. Sometimes, your body may even reward you for it.
"Quit starving yourself. Look at you.
You're miserable. Help me help you.
Just one smoke. Just one drink. And that's it. No more headaches. No more shakes.
You'll feel like you can think clearly again."
And your body's right. You will feel better. Because change can be painful.
Especially if you're trying to do it alone.
But the saying is true.
If you can push through the pain,
your body will be grateful eventually. And you will gain a new lease on life.
TheLees Apr 27
There’s something sitting on my brain.
Something disconnected.
No current. No spark.

My eyes are rolling loose in their sockets.
My voice sounds like it’s
on the other side of a wall.

I didn’t want to leave the house,
but the sun reached through the window
and coaxed me out.

Then, a brown-haired woman
with crystal eyes and porcelain cheeks
walked by,
and I caught the soft pull of her
flowery, spring-scented perfume.

It was cherries,
and my love,
and everything good.
It was honey.
It was holding my mother’s hand to cross the street.
Bruce Taylor Mar 27
Coffee prices
on the rise
double digit
inflation.
A headline
reads:
Is it the
beginning
of the end?

Must we face
the apocalypse
in a state of
withdrawal?
I can face most things or face them more fully after two cups of coffee.
alix nye Mar 23
I’ll hate the way I breathe till I taste your skin
And vaporize my longing within
To shadowed withdrawals, never has-been’s and never-will be’s.
I will make myself sick gazing into your multi colored, screen broken eyes
And stutter when you picture yourself in the gift I made you
Like I was a god, who handed you honey
To make you seem so dripping sweet.
I nearly drove off road to see your car
Parked where it always was, always will be
At least in my head, so I don’t fathom you changing,
But I stayed light
Painted my walls with lies and trapped your letters in a box
To show that I did possess restraint.
Yet all I can see is me, selfish in wanting and needing
Not respecting your box of loneliness,
Or whatever you have accomplished without my guidance.
I still crave the day you realize you were wrong,
While still mourning how horrid not truly knowing you was.
Michelle Nov 2024
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 2024
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
Next page