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v V v Oct 2018
Evidently it was meant to be.
Long before I was born my DNA
sat on a shelf in God's laboratory,
a sticky note attached,
name, date of birth, perhaps
a tiny alarm to notify the lab
of inception.

God doesn't lose things
and God doesn’t forget.
It must be for a reason and
it must be meant to be.

A critical piece of who I am.

I should show a little pride because
as they say God don't make no junk(ie)..

But I’m a little late to the party..

The party that celebrates those who choose to be identified
by a gender other than the one they were born with,
but shames anyone who struggles with substance abuse.


I'm having trouble understanding the difference.

If I were to gather my drug addled friends
and march down the street with banners and signs
demanding the right to openly inject mind altering
substances into my veins I would be seen as
a criminal and a derelict even though my constant struggle
came right off the shelf of God’s laboratory where

my sticky noted DNA sat right next to yours.

I guess I shouldn't care what people think..
I know my rights, and I demand to be accepted,
NO, praised for coming out so bravely,
carrying a new flag, flaunting in the streets,
paving the way for future generations of addicts.

I will take my God given DNA out of the dark
and go out into light,

light so bright you'll be forced to accept it.

accept my sickness!
embrace it!
this is in my DNA,
God made me this way
so it must be ok.
I feel better now.
I no longer feel guilty,
or depressed,
or weak,
or wrong,
or immoral,

No longer do I need to contain it.

no longer do I need to be shamed.

I am an addict and I am beautiful.

Just like you.
The stigma of addiction is as strong as ever. I apologize to my LGBTQ friends for any offense taken to this poem. No offense is intended rather food for thought. I have often wondered why society dictates what is politically correct and what is not... and where good old fashioned morals fit in, and how something that at one time was so right can now be so wrong,    and vice versa.
Strength, oft forsook this Un-Scrupulous Tongue
A Tape-Measure's past of Time's Friend prevent
I tweeted my News. When his Will was rung
To accept this Swallowed Gift I present
I never expected such Addled Theme
Where the Culprit layed his Murderous Mourn
With White Intent, a Blonde's Purpose took scene
Then scorched my Patience of trying to learn
Because of this all Tee's Hells grew devout
And cashed my Young Ally to cost-betray
Since for my Horn I expected your Bout
But strung to your Brother's Reflex that day.
Twelve-by-Six Dues. That is what I should owe
A Knot by nature. In Mind's Eye I know.
#will_daley
Greg Obrecht Jan 2014
A grey room with soft walls is waiting down the road.
Purple pills and quiet voices will ease my  heavy load.
They'll place electrodes on my head to shock away the pain.
Then I'll sit drooling as I stare at the morning rain.

Maybe a friend will visit and stare with wide unblinking eyes.
They'll speak cautiously and try to fill me with empty lies.
Even with my drug addled mind will see  through their mask.
There are questions visible on their tongue they refuse to ask.

The stern nurses in their funny hats take us out in the sun.
The sudden warmth and bright light jolt us like a firing gun.
We must stay in line and only speak when we're spoken to.
When one is barely conscious that's an easy thing to do.

I'm back in my locked room starting to fade off to sleep.
I wonder if God can hear my prayers under layers so deep
Please come and save your creation from this destiny.
Sprinkle your magical dust and set this tormented soul free.
patty m Jun 2014
Move the cobwebs ever softly

peer inside the poor girl's head

see the wheels turning ever

see the heartache see the dread.


Step into the parlor fancy

see the teacups and the cake

no matter she's not calm but antsy

fragile, with supposed strength fake

See her vision and desire

see her patience start to shred

bathed in fleas she's ever stirring

never sleeps but yearns for bed


years of torture years of caring

when she sits she's sadly staring

her patience wants to scream and shout

is this what life is all about?


where's the love that lights the stars

kisses sweet as chocolate bars

where is one who'll treasure her

lift spirit with their warmth and care.


delve inside the secret place

see the worry on her face

truth is cringing in the dark

while lies bare teeth like hungry sharks


see the constant urge for ***
avoid the brew and  wicked hex

anger feral in her brain
calmly sits and grows insane


lightning strikes the wishing well

the frontal lobe goes to hell
gray matter quickly scatters

as she sits and simply blathers  

cortex, reflex and sensory receptor
ate the knowledge that kept there

her mind is now a ticking bomb
sensory message sent pon to pon

medulla oblongata sticks, adheres
the brain on empty disappears

pupils go from bright to dim
reflexes stall and life looks grim

imagination kicks to high
she's floating in a pure blue sky
no horrors of the daily grind
she likes her body without a mind

yet fate steps in with evil grin
spouting poetry by the line

some sublime or sometimes crass
it knocks the girl  on her ***
soon stimuli kites, and neurons light
and the brain begins to reunite

no giving in without a fight
thus reality must ensue
as the grim and sin rush in
what's a girl to do?

Now you've seen it all
I hope you're not appalled

though it may seem senseless and ratty
so works the brain however inane
of our overworked addled Patty
Nathaniel Oct 2019
Curiosity arises on me whilst in my slumber-
Begging for death - bland, little, and somber.
For what wine quenches in the finis?
Life contracts death as death to the mother.

Is the ship rested upon the seabed departed?
Lost and addled the skeletoned sailors uncharted?
Oh! Their diaries fail to notion-
Of a cataclysm that waves adapted to fainthearted.

For what our mirrors surrender
Is that which our ideals birth
Zane Safrit Jan 2019
Raddled, addled
oh my goodness
some dimes in the
jukebox baby

A substantive
No gargantuan
Evening awaits us
Only question

Do we grab it
Race like wildfire
Down our road
Never look back

If the wherewithal
lies within us
God’ll forgive us
Might even smile at us


Copyright © 2019 by Zane Safrit. All rights reserved.
The four words today are: Raddled, Substantive, Gargantuan, Wherewithal.
Nigdaw Jul 2019
What gives you the right
To try to shine so bright among stars
That climbed into the mantle of heaven,
With drug addled bodies
And the voices of angels.
How can you sit in constellations
That foretell the future
And the state of the nation.
Glitter and glow
For the evening show
And take a bow as an unknown sensation.
Evan Stephens Mar 2019
Sleep circles
with wide wings.
Pages vanish down the eye's well:

Napoleon burns Moscow,
French detectives fry onions,
Lorca dies in the greenest green.

Rain spits into the room
crooked, dark. I'm alone.
The gyre closes, soft as a net.

Dreams hunch on the furniture.
The mirrors broadcast
the Venetian blinds croaking

and rattling against the screen
like creamy swords
in enamel scabbards.

Book-addled eyelids
are rusting into blinks
of burling dusk.

Each dying thought
is a sleek Deco Bugatti
lead by a shining path

from teardrop headlamps
whose fingers pry the night
moments before tires

sing rubber to blue.
The rain gathers into serpents
in the channels of the floor.

Above you hangs
the fat black branch
of sleep's truest face.
Zane Safrit Feb 2019
Senesence and not
pubescence is where
We’ll end up someday
raddled and addled

Our Secrets tattled
by strangers who know
Nothing, and yet speak
as experts on us

Our crypts will be files
the size of a gig,
Sold  on a thumbdrive
for the highest price


Copyright © 2019 by Zane Safrit. All rights reserved.
Traci Sims Sep 2019
"Love is nothing but a biological transaction," you yelled at me and we fought anew over the perfidies of the male ***.
Initially dismayed, I soon understood that
As a girl, you saw your father break your mother,
Her will over the years fusing with his own
As she became shadow,
And then sickly ghost,
Her lucky marriage effectively erasing the stain of her Jewish birth--
As oh so Catholic Daddy
proudly told his friends and relatives.
And even though you tried to fight Daddy's self-importance,
He was always there behind you, squeezing you between his fists,
molding you, as he imitated his god creating Eve,
Casting you into his own perfect image of chaste and chastened womanhood.
And when your mother decided to permanently leave,
Daddy forbade you to miss her,
Celebrating, instead, his own resurrection with a new project and a new wife.
Twice.
You thought you could resist,
But Daddy's benevolent advice
about your plain face and lumpy body wormed into your fragile psyche and
cracked you in two, leaving you raving and disjointed.
Daddy eventually joined his sky-Father
And you wept, vowing to forget and remember his legacy.
And now you live, addled and alone,
A basket of pills on your dresser,
Fanatically frustrated yet terrified of a man's  touch,
Angry yet wishing Daddy was here to save you.
And as the years passed and your friends married and divorced, you
convinced yourself that you had
escaped a woman's fate , not
realizing that you had offered up your own heart and soul  years ago as a suitable offering to His eternal memory.

Yes, Daddy made ****** sure there would be no following act.
This is the story of a real person. Everything I wrote about her father is something she told me actually happened to her and her family. It is a modern American horror story.
Moments Before Aug 2018
I have stared into the beckoning
for far too long

Against the white of missing home
diving as the doves and swallows

Addled from the letting blood

Reborn from a shattered ****
the ashes of a drowning child

Hands my mind hands my eyes
dream in arrows and vines enclosing
I love the one, the wolf whose stalks
like death does autumn leaves

Clinging to the pride of nature
life escaping from my being

Fingertips are tracing the heartlines
buried in a coffin of roses weightless

No dagger can touch my dejected skin
Every sharpened point begging for sin

From which the hole means more to me
than the crown atop my head
knowing myself from the cauldron
a roaring flame set underneath

From which the whole means more to me
I've placed bandages on cuts too deep

The sister who speaks to me in riddles
the long lost friend

The forgotten souls
never forget
https://www.instagram.com/sera.illustration/

Inspired by this amazing artist I have followed for several years! SERA
Check her work out :)
Yenson Dec 2019
If I did not have a mind

brilliantly forged in humanities

capable of discernment in rights and wrongs

to appease the Creator's noble design and uphold my worth

would I be the swamp flotsam in a momentum roguish and wild

carrying the addled ***** mud of past stagnation and clogged

minds

enveloped in debris of insane ideologies long shamed and

discarded  

flogged by millions out of the house of reasons cowering in bile

naked in the shattering wake of rejections by miners and sons

mothers, wives sisters and daughters who saw the light

in strives and honest endeavours they gained by sweat

communities grown in neighborly love not hate

heed the wastrels and money for nothings

entrenched in blame games and deceits

selling raw hate and dividing people

with their self-serving con masters

liars, wide boys, haters and fakers

In towns flogging dud wares

hogging delusional cures

selling

stinking red snake oil

Nobody buys it

these days
patty m Oct 2019
move the cobwebs ever softly
peer inside the poor girl's head
see the wheels turning ever
see the ache and feel the dread.

step into the parlor fancy
see the teacups and the cake
no matter she's not calm but antsy
fragile, with supposed strength fake

see her vision and desire
see her patience start to shred
bathed in fleas she's ever stirring
never sleeps but yearns for bed

years of torture years of caring
even as she sits she's staring
her patience wants to scream and shout
is this what life is all about?

where's the love that lights the stars
kisses sweet as chocolate bars
where is one who'll treasure her,
lift spirit with their warmth and care?
Delve inside the secret place
see the worry on her face
truth is cringing in the dark
while lies bare teeth like hungry shark

see the constant urge for ***
beware of brew or wicked hex
anger feral in her brain
calmly sits but grows insane.
  
lightning strikes the wishing well
the frontal globe goes to hell
gray matter quickly scatters
as she sits and simply blathers.  

cortex, reflex, sensory receptor
ate the knowledge that was kept there
her mind is now a ticking bomb
sensory message sent pon to pon

medulla oblongata sticks, adheres
the brain on empty disappears
pupils go from bright to dim
reflexes stall and things look grim

imagination kicks to high
she's floating in a pure blue sky
no horrors of the daily grind
she likes her body without a mind

yet fate steps in with evil grin
spouting poetry by the line
so sublime, or crass it knocks her on her ***
soon stimuli kites, and neurons light
and the brain begins to reunite
no giving in without a fight
as thought begins anew, reality must ensue
soon the grim and sin rush in
and the poor girl's head begins to spin

now you've seen it all
I hope you're not appalled,
though it may seem senseless and ratty
so works the brain, however inane
of our overworked, addled Patty
Mr Morningstar Nov 2018
My mind is addled
The cage has been rattled
How does one define peace
A stoic journey to mask emotions
With reflections to be meditated in private
Does letting it out seem right and good
Theres more going on than what’s under this hood.
Close your eyes and enter the maze
It’s harder to navigate when your minds a haze
Each corner takes you deeper to the Labyrinth’s end
Deeper you dive but not to fast
How else do you make a tempest pass
Thoughts flow like rivers and break the dam
Hearing from you creates mental and emotional jams
To hear from you is to die all over again.
patty m May 2019
My intoxicating kisses
no near misses,
sweet and deep
they seep through your bloodstream
one hundred proof and
who can stay aloof
as knees buckle
and I suckle every inch of you.
lust rising high
take me quickly, Lover
or you'll think you're going to die.


Burning desire
like whiskey's fire
burns reality away
only you can tame the flame
driving yourself insane
with yearnings to be sated.
My charm is understated,
my power unknown
but darling you're the one,
my love is yours alone.

I acquiesce, giving you
what you want this time
need leaves you wanton
warm and sublime.
I'm yours for the taking
drink me up or set me down
I'm whiskey in a bottle
baby, and I'll burn you
to the ground.

Addiction, makes you weak
we barely speak,
imbribe, and scribe
words on a page
sage wisdom of ages
filling the pages
while want surges
merging with heat
leaving you weak.
You thought I was pawn
now I am the queen
drink me down quickly
to polish the sheen.
Withdrawn, vagabond
drooping half dead
I'm your fantasy lover
my whispers whirl
in  your head.
Drink
drown out pain
as I tease, cajole
your assets extole
while cutting your legs off
down to your kness
I'm your Mistress baby
and I'll do as I please.
Submit,
or feel the whip
as I bind you in chains,
brains addled, once wise
now tortured mindless
one merely surmises
truth in helpless cries.
And yet you sometimes rise
above it all
bandy about like the ****
on the wall

**** a doodle do
coo coo ca choo,
too bad for you.
cut off, cut down
you're merely a clown
playing out fantasy

coddled lamb
to hell you'll be ******
while I'm still feeling frisky,
I'm one hundred proof
sometime aloof
I'm your genie in the bottle
going full throttle

I'm Whiskey
Ken Pepiton Aug 2019
Note to you: The rythymn-in-strument strums in stone geo-time.
To the drummers,
dis-passio ey okeh,
woodwinds dim-
inuendo
oboe join in mit piccolo on the hummingbird whistles
simulating
Breezes, in the shade of a great rock,

real life rock, granite composed of not so tiny grains
of ground up uther utter star-stuff, side-
real asif intended for goodness
sake.

otherwise, how petrified I'd be come imagining the forming
of the
very
foundation of my life, as I know it,

it is un-believable, therefore
no lie,
if
the riddle arrives after ever begins

and, word has it, dear reader,
may
is your word now.
You may believe anything you wish,
with no
un-intended after math, after ever
began

Do you recall...
youth full quests completed alone?

Quests, Johnny Quest, Future Quest V.B.S.

believers, true believers being formed from childish hopes,
manifesting in grown liars stricken with

hidden child sym-drone
in the middle of booming thirty-something phase when
pressure
starts storing all the old stories,

building energy for the seventh decade fracture/crushing

blow
sh
soft blow breeze of free and easy musing re
songing a reason to belief
in
even in
a realm where lies never die.

Recall the old days, balance
bubbles and crossed hairs and roads
...
Balance factors, bubble balancing lead weight,
deligate
the Whole Earth Catalogue
as
tipping-point
balanced by the weight of the roof on Notre Dame being
melted along with the rest of the Greenland Ice sheet,

so superman eyes in our skies can see to the bedrock on
which the

Principle Thing
spins
---
The root of evil has reached this point

this is after all that. Time-wise, in the arrow scenario.

Fair tales always win, sh'eros live for your examined life'sake

--- ranting old men come running down stairs
--- the hidden child has arrived

The golden headed child, meek and cold
locked
in buried treasure

chests opened one last time for quadrupal by-pass

--- He's a donor
--- givem awish foundation
--- make this sacred

Mi-da's, well, he wished again,

he wished he lived in inter-sting times entertainment-wise

inward touching times imagined
in the addled golden child
Adler
brought to life in a virtual, al-most verifiable asnot art,
but not

very-fi-able, semper-fi-wise, if you

swore the oath. (It's a game, right, now game vows link for
in of by logic gated
Jungian
mazes, do they? Amazing.  ) See,

from above, as below, pretend you know

all things, you can imagine

in my bubble, in the absolute absense of your
at-most-fear

let. that act do. let us, the objective aspect of we,
the people who hold those famed

troothz, verities of any examind re-ality-ifity-isms

self-evidence for we

be letting be, believe me, that's no lie, you can doit, you can, you can
I imagine

and I accept we may mean more to me than thee,
however now
hapt, in qualia quantumical if-I-ability
entangled meanings
link us through
my-silly-um,

Disney-fictionation endo-crenalation, --||T|>>>--->
times half
formed
Crea-nullated castle
wall
link that sparked the aitia ifiabe
first caused
fall from the well
on the mountain

jack fell downbroke his crown
jillcame
tumbling after bling bling bling

--- the sorcerors's apprentice was fired
--- they found errors in his
--- sin-tax

We can forgive such over-sight.
Blame the mycelum clan

or,
better yet,
blame the clay eaters, no,
the clay wearers?

the clay bher-ers?
Ah, the clay bakers, fersher? Nae?

The clay, perse?
The dust we shuffle as we dance atop the stone?
The way of the rolling stone,
grinding, rolling-downhill-stone,
the stone rolled away,

the stone of the sysiphus-seen-hap-iuna
cult?

Blowing in the wind, lifted higher

Ax d'maji-yo, he know. 'Zeke 17, seven with a caballero v,
y'know,
callit Macaronic be-bop

dodat, yankee doodle morph t' resound,
like poetry
slams

at the gates
no enemey ever breached. The key truth, is that,

believe it, if you think you may.
Macaronic language is text that uses a mixture of languages,[1] particularly bilingual puns or situations in which the languages are otherwise used in the same context (rather than simply discrete segments of a text being in different languages). Hybrid words are effectively "internally macaronic". In spoken language, code-switching is using more than one language or dialect within the same conversation.[2]
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