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Kaitlyn Nov 2017
A rush of blood to the head
The excitement of dread
Why
Do we yearn for the reasons we bled?

To be free from reality
Can't see your mortality
It's no surprise
Devils love hospitality

Nobody watches him slide through the door
You give him everything yet he somehow wants more
Let him tear up the carpet
The curtains
The floor

That was the last time

Every time
You swore

k.d.
Peter Balkus May 2018
Some people overdose drugs
to fill the inner void,
others smoke like a chimney,
or drink too much alcohol.

Me? I'm a heavy tea drinker,
addicted to - Rachmaninov.
My pain is not a poem,
my poetry isn't poetic.
It's cryptic and a message,
cutting up and breaking
branches. Comprehensive;
my poems are suicidal, files of
medications and prescriptions
are seemingly all my mind
can write. Jumping to conclusions
and indenting my addictions,
inflicting this confliction, convictions
I don't mention. Those rhymes that
I have wrote; it was the drowning as I broke,
a broken draft of notes, that sing:
 "you'll never learn to float,"
Acid, or is it water?  
I'm hoping for the latter,
well I guess it never mattered,
years doubled and I'm sadder.
When does it get better?  
When do I get better?  
I guess it never will, and I'm
home but I'm not here,
I'm stuck, I'm stuck, I'm stuck,
and all my heart
can pump is tears-
All feedback is appreciated and welcome!
Jasmine Reid Oct 2018
Swallowing pills
                            again
                         ­              &
                                           again
Trying my best to get high again on the feeling, drugging myself up to remember the feeling of your lips, your warm touch, and inhale your deodorant, that succulent scent.

I want to be sleepless, and think in the night. And be happy, or sad, either one works
But I guess I just want to remember I’m alive

Happy,
             Sad,
                     Nostalgia that drains me, happy memories turning into sour nightly thoughts.

I think of the dark night sky, and I thought there was once stars in your eyes, yes, maybe.

You made me higher than I’d ever been, and I miss you my dear dear happy pill
Druggo right here, am I right?
Addiction *****
It's such a killer
Addictions fun
A raging thriller

Weathers its a bag of twack
Or a fat green sack
It doesn't really matter
You could shoot pancake batter

**** or ****
*** with Beth
Just remember its not fiction
That disease you have is called addiction

See it works in such a horrid way
It controls you'r thoughts and what you say
And when it comes down to the end of the day
You probably going to do what it takes to pay
© Zachary J Morsette 2013
Contempthy Aug 2018
I am the darkness,
A  candle that is barely flickering,
Yet that flickering flame accompanied by the passing of lost souls ignites just enough light within to see the **** within,
No amount of makeup can fix the scars on my face,
And that **** scale,
Is the Great Depression where all value has been lost,
I like white powder and white pills they make my toxic crimson bones a fuller shade of pink,
A pink cloud,
To float in nothingness that’s where my soul belongs
I want to shrink my body to a nothingness,
If god is love then that means I was not created into his image,
For I have never felt love with out a pericing pang in my heart,
Love is conditional,
So is god?
Nothingness though is beautiful,
But I am rotting flesh and bone with a short skirt and high heals on his bedroom floor,
He craves my destroyed body but has not time to listen to my soul,
Can you kick me out now I would like to go,
Go into the vast darkness that I am
The vastness of nothingness is my only remedy for pain of lost worth and dead souls
Heather Moon Feb 2014
Dad
So my father,
he goes into the store to buy his $10 a pack for cancer
while he still attempts to hide his addictions from my sister and I.
Now I don't think it would bother me oh so much
but his frugal attempts to sweep the dust under the rug is like using a mop instead of a broom...
We see the crumbs leading to your door from the cookie jar.
Yes, we all have flaws, but you,
you
weave shamefully through the under layers of darkness, devoid of any resemblance to a heavenly nature, you fall like a night creature weaseling through crooked creaky cement alleyways, your gremlin spirit set ablaze.

LIFE, I revel and roll within the taste of each second, I run the grain of life across my tongue until saliva fills the creases and far reached corners of my mouth. I tap my finger to my lips like a true virtuoso, a connoisseur of life. Life.

My father's addictions completely derail me,
not even so the notion itself, I mean yes, but his blatantly obvious ways of avoiding confrontation not only from us, but also from himself.
Like Pinocchio's nose, my fathers back gets hunched more and more, his breath quickens when we draw close.
Father you are not prey, in fact if there be a predator, it is you unto yourself. I can no longer help but to roll my eyes when you tell me for the fourth time in the day that you must take out the trash so as to have a smoke.
I am fed up, excuse me sir, the trash will still be there no matter how many times you take out the "trash" .
The only "thing" that won't be left after you're repeated offenses of the benign chore will be you're dignity because you are so naive and ignorant in the way you dodge truth. How can you live respectfully when you don't respect yourself? Nor do you value what you are spitting out to your own daughters.
I am addicted to life,
I breathe it in with passion,
I embrace the truth within me
and have an eagerness to expand my wisdom.
How come father you do something that you know is a betrayal to yourself? How come you hide away in that old bar, the one with the flashing(flickering) light on the outside, dingy worn out red leather(plastic)booths on the inside, the bar located in some musty  little hole in you're brain and a blind spot on you're heart.
You sit in the back in a lonesome booth slumped like some chump, stuck in a stump, you ooze and wheeze not even grasping for air, no fight left within, you are like mucus, a toad melting into the ground. Sinister and swindling in the greed of you're gut. Your ***** mopey yellow eyes and the shameful acceptance as you indulge in the baths of life's luxuries whilst you poison your body, trash what you hold dear and continue to block out that little annoying voice.
The voice with the cracks in it,
worn out from you're games, the voice that nags and pleads. The one that catches you before you order another round, take another smoke break, the one that pulls you, tantalizes you with it's simple sweet natural charm in hopes of distracting you from your self harming ways.
The voice that chimes in the second you raise your fist to punch me. The voice that is screaming at you when you lock eyes with mine and can see my fear.
Yeah that voice, the little punk one that returns even after the crime of your actions has been committed.
After the music stops and it's just you and the world.
but even then
I don't think you will hear it.
You're living on the edge of the pavement father.
No you wont hear that voice, not when you're twisted and contorted into the sideways way of things. You killed that voice long ago, when you wound yourself deeper and deeper like a clock in time,
when you twirled yourself into that little empty pub, with a quiet pool table, with no hope, a sanctum of greed.
Yes, you're guilty, yes it was you.
It was you who killed the voice inside of yourself.
You killed it when you traded
your dignity and your truth
for yet another
$10 dollar pack of
emptiness,
lies,
and forfiet.
Humans are creatures of habit
Living unnatural habitation
We do what we do, because we do what we do
And have already done it
We love it, in our minds, and soul
Like a repetitions curse
We crave, we need, we want, the addiction

April 26 2019
based on an old quatrain
Every human on earth, lives in their addictions
habits, we do it over and over, living in these loops we create
caffeine, sugar, nicotine.
... what is your addiction

abuse; aggression; ambition; anger; arrogance; baseness; blasphemy; calculation; callousness; capriciousness (unaccountable changes of mood or behavior); censoriousness (being severely critical of others); conceitedness; contempt; cruelty; cursing; debasement; deceit; deception; delusion; derision; desire for fame; dipsomania (alcoholism characterized by intermittent bouts of craving); discord; disrespect; disrespectfulness; dissatisfaction; dogmatism; dominance; eagerness for power; effrontery (insolent or impertinent behavior); egoism; enviousness; envy; excessiveness; faithlessness; falseness; furtiveness; gambling; garrulity (tediously talking about trivial matters); gluttony; greed; greed for money; grudge; hard-heartedness; hatred; haughtiness; high-handedness; hostility; humiliation; hurt; hypocrisy; ignorance; imperiousness (assuming power or authority without justification); imposture (pretending to be someone else in order to deceive); impudence; inattentiveness; indifference; ingratitude; insatiability; insidiousness; intolerance; intransigence (unwilling or refusing to change one's views or to agree about something); irresponsibility; jealousy; know-it-all; lack of comprehension; lecherousness; lying; malignancy; manipulation; masochism; mercilessness; negativity; obsession; obstinacy; obstinacy; oppression; ostentatiousness; pessimism; prejudice; presumption; pretence; pride; prodigality (spending money or using resources freely and recklessly); quarrelsomeness; rage; rapacity (being aggressively greedy or grasping); ridicule; ******; sarcasm; seducement; self-denial; self-hatred; ****** ****; shamelessness; stinginess; stubbornness; torment; tyranny; unkindness; unruliness; unyielding; vanity; vindictiveness; violence; violent temper; voluptuousness; wrath
Of all the addictions...
Chocolate is how
**** should be.
Ilion gray Dec 2018
There is something to be said about sadness-
there are levels-
Remember,
these two words:

"Divine - Sorrow"

when I first met the Almighty,
I had already been a child for years;
I survived,
then I fell asleep.

I never woke up again.

I can see that you are confused..

If so,
May I suggest that you,
listen from the room
behind your eyes.
The one with no door,
Lay down,
With your back,
and head
on the bed;
But, leave your feet
on the floor.

There, on the ceiling in your head,
Painted from corner to corner
is a very cold small planetary garden,

Go there, and wait for me.

if you are reading these words,
I am already in the stomach of death;
Only the soul of my breath is here still,
Awaiting digestion.

Although,
I know a physician specializing
In didacticism,
I would suggest
that you not call him;
until morning.

When I have left the body.

However, tonight sleep in a fetal position.

Because I love you.
Because, you are very much meant to love and be loved.

something for the weaknesses
Is perfection.

the doctors,
have reasonable logical analysis,
maybe some other theories, about my condition.
They will tell you -
that i have mental disorders -
That my past drug addictions
made it easier for my sickness
to manifest-
It's_self

They will tell you, "like anyone else ...
Your father is dying he needs help;"
And I know you'll be laughing inside
and I'll be smiling
Halfheartedly,
walking through
woods behind my eyes,
Conversing with
trees and wind,
Sitting with the golden orb-weaver,
he tells me the names of the
Stars; I never ask him for his source,
For he weaves replicas of
The universe, while the world sleeps,
Then, as I walk a little further,
four-spotted palpitas
Flicker in the light of the
Many moons
of my minds-sky,
Every one of them,
The trees,
The wind,
The spider,
The moth,
All the moons...

Everyone of them speak to me with the voice of my father.

I am here most of days
Emptying my eyes,
Pouring myself out
Over the long bent grass
Of his words..

then,

Here I am again,
In the doctor's office lobby,


It's cold,...
                 I put my hands in the
                        bottom;    
front pockets
of my jacket.
And, there in the pocket
I find a empty pill bottle,
(written in the fine print on the prescription label)

A little side note they send my soul,
regarding death;
before calling my name
in the waiting room,
It said,

" if you want to stay awake
Flush one pill down the toilet
A day"

Yes....there is work
yet to be done, and
I am not just the skin,
wrapped in thick blood,
running down
The throat
Of dry..dry veins
that
gurgle me down
impatiently,
Into, the stomach of death.

Where...
The lobby,
smells like blended
plastic machines burning,
And
tired lives;
expiring slowly.

I sit here,
waiting to be called,
The minutes are empty
from 1 to 60

There is nothing there...

Staring at dusty picture frames dangling from clinging nails,
Barely holding their place
On the wall
But they are only dusty, 
 plastic and glass...
and nothing else in here
Is where it used to be,
nothing is where I put it;
Unless I hid it from myself...
There is no-thing here,
I have lost my moons...
My elements
incomplete in unrest.
You and You.
Are a
thousand million
light years
Away,
I miss your gravitational waves and the wind that was yours when
You danced like a dervish
Across the edge of the walls of
Stratos,
I was slipping in and out of space
And again 0001 00 100 00...

When you left...
Why did you take all of your
Photographs?
I miss
peering into your worlds;
I long for you both...
Savagely, in whispering rain,
In blood,
with veins of wild fires.
croob Dec 2018
She tells me to take things more seriously
or else no one will take me seriously.
I say, seriously?
An intervention?
She says no, no, nothing like that,
sitting in front of a banner bearing the words
NICK’S INTERVENTION!!! with three
gaudy exclamations points, just like that.

god, how haven't you learned yet
to fix all your problems?
you forklift your issues, and in addition, you put on a front!
yes, all right, all right, but we’ve all got our goblins.
Not to mention your addictions - furthermore, your predelictions towards -
yes, all RIGHT, i know you’re right, but you’re still a *****.
the banner flutters
to the floor.
just kidding, thanks for the honest and valid criticism of my character sincerely
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