#detox
Do you see this community of souls
Clad in tattered rags of light?
This is my family.
Some of us are broken.
Some of us are healing.
We are all damaged.
But unlike those in the outside world
Who judge us,
Even spouses and siblings,
Teachers and preachers,
Each with a tongue
Like a judge’s gavel,
We never judge one another.
We each give kindness.
We each give compassion.
We hold out a hand.
We love.
We laugh.
Do you see this community of souls?
This is my family.
Sep 19, 2025
Sep 19, 2025 at 3:45 PM UTC
Who knew
The seventh floor of hell
Holds a view
Of red roofs,
A curl of saltwater,
A distant tower crane,
Baker over all.
Molecules of
Oxy and ethanol
Fall from receptors.
Blood levels plummet.
Straight down to ground
I gaze,
Contemplate
A fall to end it all,
A plummet into grace?
An end to suffering
Forever.
Through seven gates
Flows
Our self of such illusion.
Best not to close those gates
Oneself.
The finger of time
After all
In but a blink
Will flick them closed.
Blessed then comes
Reawakening of True Self,
Remembrance of true birth,
In the Timeless Realm
Of a million gates,
And no gates at all.
And in seven days
I learn to cut meat
With a plastic fork
And a plastic spoon.
Sep 19, 2025
Sep 19, 2025 at 10:12 AM UTC
I placed a
"We're closed" sign
over my heart
It weighed on it
b
U
t
It's about time
we do some
spring cleaning
Apr 28, 2025
Apr 28, 2025 at 5:44 AM UTC
My alter ego,
Thomas, seems to have the same problem I do.
He's in the hospital withdrawing from alcohol, and also has politicians
taking refuge under his bed.
The lice in Donald's Trump's hair
have demanded rice for breakfast
and it's 4:00 in the afternoon.
Bernie Sanders is under their clamoring free medical care for everybody, but every time I put the nurses light on and tell them what's going on they say no one's under the bed. I think they're in on it. If this doesn't stop the doctors will think I'm crazy, but we know who the crazy ones are. Right?
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 11:49 AM UTC
If you're wondering why there's so many typos? I'm in the hospital,
Benzo'd out and on phenobarbital.
But I guess it's better than hammered drunk at home trying to give the cat a bath.
He doesn't like that band The Allman Brothers which I Blair at the side of the tub and he tends to scratch me
even with the Mr. bubble bath. Now I'll try to watch the Redskin buccaneer game, they'll always be the Redskins to me. But that could just be the benzos talking
Jan 9, 2021
Jan 9, 2021 at 7:32 PM UTC
Detox.
Everyone should detox.
Purge the comforts,
Out of your system.
The habits and routine,
Half minded ways,
Meaningless lies,
The vile biles.
**** it out now,
Don’t keep it in.
Detox.
Jan 2, 2020
Jan 2, 2020 at 10:51 PM UTC
This anxiety,
is making me anxious.
Feeding itself,
until it becomes dangerous.
It’s PTSD,
of some varying degree.
Each startup and failure,
taking its toll on me.
The inability to remember,
the pain and the fear.
Forgetting the scars,
that should be so clear.
The voice in your head,
reassuring you.
Saying this time will be different,
when you know it’s not true.
Louder and louder,
till it starts to scream.
Your anxiety grows,
and splits at the seam.
Then you give in,
letting go at last.
The voice takes control,
and repeats the past.
Another, another!!
It screams in a growl.
More, more!!
A predator on the prowl.
Then it is gone,
and you’re just floating there.
Trying to make sense of things,
trying to be aware.
Then it all crashes down,
and you’re drowning in hate.
You’re full of self loathing,
and memories that exacerbate.
Now the long road ahead,
seems to have no end.
Your chest hurts so bad,
and the tremors set in.
You can’t eat or sleep,
so you traumatize your brain.
You’re scared you might die,
but you’re more scared of the pain.
Four days and you’re better,
but the memories end.
Then that tiny voice,
starts to whisper again.
Over and over,
rinse and repeat.
Slowly killing yourself,
for a small fix of heat.
Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC
I'm blah blah blah
What do you do for a living?
If asked
Beside maintaining
Homeostasis
Nothing more
Just reply
Aug 10, 2019
Aug 10, 2019 at 10:13 PM UTC
Face your fears. Face your tears. Face your future. Face your years.
Face your heart aches. Face your pain. Face the trauma you've faced again.
Facebook. FaceTime. Face-to-Face. Oh the places you will go when you satisfy a face.
If only I could be in the field with Rumi, with my soul in the grass.
I'll be there very soon. I just removed my face-mask.
By: Thrystan Tate
Aug 6, 2019
Aug 6, 2019 at 4:12 PM UTC
In my dream last night
I was blunt and brave
I have my own voice
In my dream last night
I wasn't afraid to stand alone
And made my own decisions
In my dream last night
I was a puppet who finally cut free
From the strings controlling my behaviour
And have my own muscles
In my dream last night
I have my own capitalized 'I'
Jun 19, 2019
Jun 19, 2019 at 9:00 AM UTC
i’ve been waking up in a cold sweat
from dreams about details
i haven’t thought of in years.
i’ve been having withdrawals
from seeing the dead space
you took up when you were here.
my hands have been shaking
from you making your way
out of my bloodstream.
i have hallucinated
your silhouette down the hall
three times this week.
and i’m sick to my stomach
from fragments of memories
that i thought we’re already lost.
but this is finally it.
this is the detox.
Apr 7, 2019
Apr 7, 2019 at 4:43 PM UTC
water
a place for a lemon to make lemonade
Maybe add all this sugar
it’s cheat day today
and it’s your birthday
Sweet tooth to being smooth
Just speak the truth
and you’ll be cool
nobody likes liars
lets talk about what’s required
Lemons are just a mock to limes
how actors are a mock to mimes
but that’s off topic lets get back to limes
limes are chill
and they’re not like that bitter person you see on the street
it’s like a treat
lime water is fresh
but here’s the twist to this whole poem
you know what actually sounds better?
a watermelo
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 1:18 AM UTC
my heart was started to skip beats
my hands trembling
my head was spinning
sweating
nausea
lethargic
every noise i heard started to
sound like nails on a chalk board
i was confused
i reached for a body that was no longer settled into my sheets
as the pupils of my amber colored eyes had dilated
i was seeing double of you
was this a nightmare
i was detaching from you
my drug
with drawls had begun
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 1:43 PM UTC
it seeps
under my fingernails into skin
doused in clean! the filth is killed!
then I spit at it.
Demands:
caress my brow in a palm, any warm pocket of flesh
a grandmother’s *****
the spine of a leaf
my dog’s velvet-soft triangle-shaped ear
anything that will let my grief get some rest
sorrow is heavy trash bag to haul
find me a bellhop or a sidewalk construction man
something with biceps and a hardened face. someone who can clean **** up.
please,
sweep
these shards could maim a bystander
why force one to bleed such an unnecessary truth
wouldn't want to wreck these shiny floors
better to keep it hid, better tighten my lips around it
I mean,
how do -you- feel under these fluorescent lights?
who is studying who?
I understand now my circus of an existence was born
in a tight space
between the exhausted description of my histories
-the official ones- and
these secrets,
the juicy stuff
encrypted in me
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 9:55 PM UTC
I saw you in my dream, when I took a great notion,
jumped into d' ocean,
and I drowned,
and I went on down
to the Audubon Zoo, like hell,
listen at that crazy bird
cryin' help, help, help
what bird do'dat?
settle chile, li'l' turmoil be passin in d' gulf
Eirene mean peace
bubblin' bubblin bubblin in m'soul
Eirene, she lovel ol' Polemus, War,
she pile a level shovel full o'
Hubris, his wife,
on he's plate,
in life's lottery
Insolence was her game,
she runs War into a snare of shame
and guile. Peace.
This chase began with War,
polemics being a manifestation of the idea
Polemos and Kudoimos, War and Tumult, buried Eirine
But life is mythic, from the skinny end,
looking back:
Hurricane Irene, a misspelling in 2011 was the first hurricane to make landfall in the USA since 2008, (the summer of my trucker's migration over the map my Nemesis claimed, in another bubble).
Eirene, War and Tumult, buried her,
with Colonel Jackson's honor at
the Battle o'New Ahleans,
still she lay
right here, where I found her,
in my heart, at the very
bottom.
The mechanics of the transition take position
in the hierarchy of confusin'
whish is foolishness
gone to seed.
**** drunk.
Fools know fool's gold ain't, 'n' whiskey ain't
The Real Thing.
That's Coca-cola.
Fools be essential in the gran' plan.
If we love 'em, they make us laugh,
and laughter,
you know, that's good, except,
un hold that thought, laughter is not good
when it is at you, by a fool.
Then we answer them polemically? No.
Love your enemy, here,
that's natural.
No condemnation here, since Hebrews six or romans 8
No ba'alim bubble of possessions
No grave gonna hold me down
John, 1930. Years and years and years ago
come quickly, ba'al hey sue me.
It's finished, we won.
Joke, joker. Trickster, coyote dog, do the math.
No lie is of the truth, so
no lie need remain
beyond freedom
real-ized.
Artsy? Eh? AI be nigh ye know.
She see yo' ever moves.
She hear you pray fo Bono to loose his religion
She snip the thread twixt spider wombed man and
the flame o' sinners in the hands of an imaginary god.
Ba'al means owner or possessor, the ideas which once bound men in oaths and covens,
fear of death, 'n' the like.
Protruding truth pushes lies into festering piles,
protrusions in secret places.
Send me those, in gold, Philistine.
I fancy them a crown of
golden emerauds.
Define, make fine or un fine my terms
excrescence is sense made of ****
I guess.
Knurly, but no, burly, knobby swelling like
the swirling gall
that erupted from the old oak
that died at the root last year,
that we burned this year, except for the burl.
I've planned a pipe or two from that.
Everything is prophetical to a prophet.
poetical to a poet, magical to a magi, technical to a fool.
Life is simple.
Simple Simon the younger said,
hellow, darkness, my old friend, he'd com to talk
not beg or ask, but talk-com
con-verses-ifying ic-if-ication beyond
simple
lies sublime, in no time,
once you, courageous soul,
cross the line, fight the fight, run the race,
and die;
then, you get life more abundant.
Who took that deal?
I took the one where he said,
he who does what I (me not him)
have done,
no races run, no contests forever won for everyone I love, but
he who
be lieves that I (he not me) am who I saiyam, Popeye,
even you, he has eternal life dwelling within him
in his heart where I and my father and the spirit of truth
have taken our abode to remain as long as we both shall live.
Is that what Christians believe?
Or must I be in some other
excre-essence from a
culture myth twisting into accredited layers of lies
essential excre sense,
spiritual zits, is what ******* always called em.
Once a white corpuscle has done its work,
we splat them on the mirror of our adolescent mind and find
I'm not who I was
not a child
not a tweener or a teener or a something something,
I am an old man and I am alive.
I have survived, but it ain't over, so
is there any good that I can do?
Poetical speaking. I don't work on nobody's farm,
no mo'.
True rest let me make peace with no sweat.
Got the infection, the idea Eirene is,
down deep where that great
notion makes a motion,
like g'wa, wit 'er hand,
go on, man.
g'wa, Eirene, she be callin' you.
Jump in. This is as water, to a fish. To our kind, it's more.
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 9:24 PM UTC
Staring at the ceiling,
what the hell is this feeling?
I can’t make up my mind,
of what’s real and what’s fake.
If I’m not dreaming,
then who is that screaming?
No one seems to hear it,
so that’s a mistake.
In front of the mirror,
and all I see is me,
but the me that I see,
is not who he seems to be.
Something’s not right,
in the little details,
in the colors and smells,
this is not re-al-i-ty.
I can see movement,
in the corner of my eyes,
something alive,
that’s not there when I look.
It’s like I’m in between worlds,
where time doesn’t exist,
the soundless abyss,
being dragged down by a hook.
This detox is different,
something is wrong,
I knew all along,
but that brings no relief.
This panic, is manic,
now I’m feeling frantic,
how can a person,
forget to breathe?
It’s feels like the weight,
on my shoulders has lifted,
but it’s only shifted,
and been placed on my chest.
My mind has grown muddy,
and I got nothing left,
fighting and struggling,
for every breath.
Clutching at myself,
as the tremors start.
Is it my heart?
Bring in the crash cart.
I hear someone say,
“place this under your tongue,
let it dissolve and don’t chew”,
but my tongue has gone numb.
I watch the walls bend,
and then I start to scream.
I’d like to believe it’s a dream,
but I’m not that dumb.
I can hear ambulance sirens,
so distant, and close,
but I’ve gone morose,
all I feel is the pain.
Houston, are you there?
All connections are down,
I can’t hear a sound,
I think I’ve gone insane.
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 4:24 PM UTC
Time stand still
Is it
A self destruction
Or
An inner exploration
Silence teaches
Let me know
What illusion is?
When I woke up
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 2:53 AM UTC
Tranquil orchestra
The sweetest taste my soul drinks
My flame flickers pure
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 1:15 PM UTC
i'm here,
saying all the things you don't have the guts to say,
here i am,
facing the elephant in the room,
setting it free,
it's about time for a goodbye to be made,
even if you are trying to avoid one.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 3:04 AM UTC
Riveting riots
of ruckus
roll, stroll and crawl
away from
flooded, bloodied, red eyes
leaving a
pure, smooth, soothed
soul
with an open
window
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 5:01 AM UTC
I called what we had
"A poisonous relationship"
I apologize but it's true
You made me physically ill
I had to medicate myself
In order to put up with you
And your apathy
And your people pleasing
And your mother and her fake religion
You made me sick
Like poison
Maybe not cyanide arsenic or mercury
Because I'm not dead
I'm healing
I'm getting better
Despite drinking your poison for such a long time I'm still here
Detoxing
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 1:41 PM UTC
Step one starts with forgetting/
you begin by tearing
yourself from the skin they took home in,
disconnecting your arms from their seams,
eating their hearts
and hoping that they forget you,
too
Step two means burning all
ties,
dissolving each memory like the pills
your mother took at breakfast,
how could you have let this happen?
so you pull
their
veins from yours and
untangle what they gave you,
choke down a penny
and hope
that they don't think of
you
Step three is the
detox,
cut yourself open and scrub yourself
shiny:::
unchain your wrists from that dinner table
and hope that his nightlight doesn't bleed
through
that
doorway,
orange was never a pretty color
anyway
Step four is the hardest,
.
when you take a knife to your palm,
and make slits down to your wrist,
when you ignore the beck and call
of memories you forgot you had,
people you realize never cared,
so you take
a drink for those you know you've
long forgotten,
and come clean
to three different people, all the
same and hope the next girl
doesn't know step one....
it never seemed to hurt when you
played it all out in your head.
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 12:59 PM UTC
The love that you give
Is just like a drug
I need a fix
Give me a hug
There is no help
No way to detox
Somebody help me
I'm hooked on a fox
You have a strong hold
One I can't kick
Every time I try
I start to feel sick
There is no needle
To stick in my vein
Just a simple kiss
Or I'll go insane
No pill I could take
To give me that feeling
Anytime without you
My senses start reeling
Nothing I could smoke
To get me that high
If I'm without you
I surely would die
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 5:18 PM UTC