#addicts
It's Val, I talk of Value
Minds off! Well I turned it on
Who won't hide the idle?
Not tough, If Love is just enough
It's Val, or picnic in the valley
Love's gone! Places and gifts are gods
Demands high - higher than processed barley
Want more, less love, money got the odds
It's Val, still don't make it valid
The show off, to make the single feel worse
It's hard! Last year love addicts wish they still had it
But break ups! Las Las! We all need Jesus
It's Val, okay agreed! Valentine
Not wrong, if love is just as strong
As the vibe, the time when hearts melt fine
When this poetic voice is as suiting as a love song
Feb 14, 2025
Feb 14, 2025 at 4:28 PM UTC
Feel nothing
Say nothing
Be nothing
I've tried
Feel something
Say something
Be something
I've won
I
have
become
n o n e
May 9, 2024
May 9, 2024 at 9:20 PM UTC
I'm sorry I'm not a degenerate like you
But that's not my fault
But in your own warped minds
Filth
F Minus
Jan 14, 2022
Jan 14, 2022 at 4:01 AM UTC
Feelin nicotine sick
Tho nev **** on a stick
Dealin wit dopamine *****
They don't need a fix
Jan 14, 2022
Jan 14, 2022 at 4:06 AM UTC
*
*
-
For every story of addiction
has trauma at the root
-
*
*
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 7:21 AM UTC
They chased dragons
instead of their dreams
and made love
at rock bottom.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 3:35 AM UTC
I confess I’m addicted to my phone
My observations tell me I’m not alone
For when you venture out it’s plain to see
The majority of us are glued to our screens
Whether on the tube or pushing a pram
We all have devices in our hands
Surfing the net or social networking
Everyone obsessed with being plugged in
It’s getting so bad even in company
We’re not fully there as we view our screens
And now there are warnings from TFL
Not to fall down escalators as a result of this swell
In checking our messages, writing posts
Face to face interaction up in smoke
We’d rather be alone in the cyber world
Than engaging in reality with other boys and girls
It is an epidemic that’s spreading extremely fast
Thus it seems that human contact
could become a thing of the past
No need to leave the house anymore
When everything can be ordered and delivered to your door
A society of zombies isolated could we become
If we don’t down devices and venture out into the scrum
And mingle with other beings physically there
Where we can look them in the eye
and maintain that stare
Connecting on a basic level without the aid of WiFi
And concentrating on each other
instead of being distracted by
Notifications and little beeps
Incoming communication that never sleeps
And keeps you up all night as your brain just can’t switch off
From all the incessant stimuli we’re inundated with
Time to give it a rest, take a break just for a while
Look up from your laptops and perhaps give someone a smile
Watch where you are going, don’t get yourself run over
Be present in the moment and you hopefully won’t fall over
Have a coffee with someone instead of instant messaging
Regard the world around you taking note of everything
Don’t zone out and go into a solitary trance
Assemble your tribe, spin some tunes, have a little dance
Limit your time on the World Wide Web
Grab yourself a hottie and get jiggy with them instead
I’m talking to myself
As well as anyone else
Your family and chums are precious
And deserve nothing less
Than your undivided attention
For one day there’ll come a time
When perhaps they’re no longer around
And you regret being online.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 2:24 PM UTC
She popped pills
To catch thrills
Chasing dreams
While searching for something real
Addict is her identity
Chasing highs but end up catching lows
Empty was her heart
She fell in love With something that
tore her apart
Popping pills to feed her ego
This addiction she didnt want let go
Now to the grave she goes
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 5:07 PM UTC
Can we talk about something real quick?
Do you remember what you did last night?
I do.
You remember that video you watched when ya girl went to sleep?
Yeah, I've done that too.
Although, in my case, at least I waited till she went to work.
If you say it can't be so, I'd be a big fat liar.
Women don't watch **** ,
I say the hell yes we do.
After-all it's so accessible, these desires of the flesh.
For the Women who have, know
you are not alone.
Yes, I have been there too.
My eyes forever tainted.
Next thing you know,
you start embellishing these images of the "perfect" man.
Guess what,
MR. "PERFECT" DOESN'T EXIST.
Fiction.
Face it, that muscle man eventually turns into an old man.
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 6:58 AM UTC
You are allowed to be angry.
You are allowed to be angry that you missed out on childhood.
That the sound of a slamming door terrifies you.
That the slightest touch of a hand makes you flinch.
You are allowed to be angry that it took you years to be able to look at yourself in the mirror.
You are allowed to be angry at the way you were treated.
You are allowed to be angry at people who hurt you.
You are allowed to be angry.
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 7:47 PM UTC
Sometimes I wish you were never apart of my life.
But if it wasn't for you, what the hell would be left of me?
Would all of the cuts and scratches and scars disappear? All of these ugly, little things that tell my story would simply evaporate?
It's because of you that I can tell the good days from the bad.
And it's because of you I appreciate the small things.
I appreciate smooth roads because I've driven on rocky.
Some days I close my eyes so tight they hurt. I beg and I beg and I beg that when I wake up, all of the bad is gone.
The memories.
The hurt.
The ache.
But I open my eyes and I'm still just here. So I exist.
And some days, that's all I need to do,
Simply exist.
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 6:42 PM UTC
one
Be gentle, because they don’t know any better. I know that you’re the child, and I know that you’re scared, and I know that it isn’t your job to be gentile or kind but I also know that being gentile is easier than being angry.
two
Make sure to give up your heart and soul first. Take your feeling and put them into a box, and shove that box far away because God knows that they’ll only heart them anyways.
three
Read well and often. Send your mind into a new, completely different world for a little while. You need it. We all need it.
four
Learn how to be distant. Learn how to love from afar. Being close will only hurt more in the long run.
five
The most important part of loving an alcoholic is loving you first. You are not your parent’s mistakes. You are not what caused them to break so harshly that they turned to a bottle rather than a book, a drink rather than their daughter.
I learned how to love an alcoholic before I learned to love myself. And to this day, I’m still learning.
Oct 22, 2017
Oct 22, 2017 at 9:36 PM UTC
I grew up drowning in whiskey.
I grew up quickly.
I grew up alone in my thoughts.
And now when I look in the mirror and see myself,
I know that I hardly grew up at all.
Oct 22, 2017
Oct 22, 2017 at 8:55 PM UTC
Emotions lay at the end of empty liquor bottles
While Pain sits in the middle of his ****** filled syringe
The struggle of leaving love left a feeling so strenge
She drunk her way out of love
As he drugged his way out of love
Getting over love is painful
don't overdose while getting over something that wasn't meant to be
Forcing you to be who you not supposed to be
Remember that addicts were once lovers looking for a drug more powerful than love
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 11:04 PM UTC
Misguided with glazed eyes,
they gleam in an effort to encourage impulsiveness.
I no longer have a desire to be the windows inside of you.
Admiring a lavender sky,
sunsets continue to die,
plagued by the thought of
night creeping in again.
I am vulnerable to the pale moonlight.
You once told me, 'There's a cracked home that you carry inside of you.'
No longer am I the thoughts filling your head,
that I'm the cure to your sickness.
Isolated myself in heavy sheets of sadness,
suffocating-
in an uninvited guest room,
just some extra space.
A breeze persistently tugging,
the tattered curtains.
Someday, you'll understand-
I was never your home.
Never becoming a garden,
never a lonesome white gate.
Paint chips from my decaying bones,
from years of damage.
Been here before
a ghost to these creaking stairs.
Fixing everyone else's homes,
a loose floorboard bares secrets,
but I continue to keep things just to have something to hold.
Stairs cave,
with each step I take.
I end
as it begins;
your body becomes an earthquake,
the house crumbles,
words evolve into raspy whispers
Damage has been done,
marks are on the wall,
as demons claw.
They're ripping through your veins
as I feel the foundation in my fingertips.
The walls won't be here tomorrow,
no longer holding everyone's hands,
or breathe through these polluted lungs.
I've begun to feel a need to repent
and with every move I make,
my happiness is spent.
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 5:11 PM UTC
Now this verse has begun,
Who does have the most fun,
*** addicts or tea ladies?
Who'd want to be your tea lady?
*** addict have the best smiles,
Tell you why, if you listen for a while.......
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 12:42 AM UTC
You can't save a loser
They have to save themselves.
No matter how you love them
You can’t breathe for someone else.
You can’t pay their emotional bills
With the love stored in your heart.
You can’t be with them 24/7
So it’s best for you to start
Waking to reality’s demands
And wash your hands
Of this self-destructive fantasy.
Soon, even they will understand.
And if they don’t see wisdom
In what you are trying to do
Let them go on and ruin their life
But it won’t be because of you.
Maybe you think it is too late
Because you spoiled them already,
So now they need your guiding hand
To keep their courses steady.
If you’re strong enough to realize
You’re not helping them a bit
You can gather enough love
And strength enough to quit
Babying someone who today
Is no longer just a little child.
Let them find their own rock bottom
At the risk of being totally wild.
It’s really the only thing to do.
So, if you are the wife, the friend;
Sister, father, brother or mother,
You will find you have the time
For you and the loser to recover.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 2:58 PM UTC
So this is a poem for all the people out there.
The people who used to live like they didn't care.
The ones scared to speak up.
The ones who always felt like they messed up.
To all of you who have a history.
It's that story.
The one that makes up you.
Yeah there are very few.
Few similar.
Many who have walked down the road you went down.
The road you ran to when you felt like nobody else was around.
There was always someone who saw your pain when you cried.
Someone who would have stayed up countless nights.
Someone who let go of themselves to make sure your alright.
So this poem is for all the recovering people.
The ones who feel like they were lost.
Hopeless even.
Relying on drugs, achohol, *** and other outlets.
Personal my Ive found that you can't always have those to rely on.
Eventually they are gonna be the reason you refuse to carry on.
You are all so important.
You are all so different.
However you wound up where you are today,
Know there is important in your history.
Everything you've ever done has led up to someone.
I know friends who have gotten past everything that used to drown them. I'm so freaking proud of them.
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 8:46 PM UTC
Junk sickness unearths this
Deep-rooted, oozing desperation.
Slack jaws,
Eyes
Bouncing in the back of your skull.
Tear through the paper flesh,
Scraping for a vein
Needing of
Molestation,
Mutilation,
Shredded from that constant need,
That whining itch,
To feel nothing
And everything all at once.
Praying for the earth to melt
Around the bare bones
Of the walking dead.
I am
But an observer
Stuffed in the back seat
While needles clog,
Blood surges,
Rage stirs.
I am
Just a spectator
To their universe coming to a
Creeping
Dull thud,
As they dream of better days that will
Surely come.
I am
Not sure
If it's possible to dig yourself
Back up
From the depths of a self-made grace.
I am
Not sure
If there is life after dope.
Lust swelters,
The shot is done,
We drive on.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 7:06 PM UTC
because I have not seen it,
because I have not found it,
then the question remains,
if so and how and why,
those thoughts,
can’t control,
look behind,
the crowd roar,
distance chill,
hit my lungs,
the white smokes dwell,
with broken smile,
received,
that exists,
unanswered,
emptiness,
always bottom out,
truly believe,
hit me high!
(c) Ko Win Khine aka. D Hlaine (December 17th, 2014. NYC)
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 2:29 PM UTC
They don’t remember
her
Well, she got burnt out
in a hotel and lost
herself
Now,
you can’t make anything
out of
her.
-DDF
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
tufts of grass stand in the yard
hairy green patches of tenacity
in a field of neglect
half a screen guards
a **** stained door where
someone painted, 214
the pit bull sits behind it
waiting to be fed, and to be
chained again to the stake
where, like any beast bound
by gravity and the grave, he will
make ceaseless circles
smaller e a c h day,
unwitting sentry to those
two legged creatures
inside
who, with or without
the pit, lie prostrate, in dreamless
bug rich beds
when they fall
from sleep, they too make circles
bound by stakes and chains…
invisible
though their pull is felt
and their infernal rattle heard
no matter how far from home
the prisoners of Tulip roam
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC