"ambien" poems
You know how the Lorax spoke for the trees? I feel the need to speak for my four-year-old niece. Not because she can't speak -- she can and rarely stops once she starts -- but because there are certain concepts time has yet to grant her. So until time does, I got you covered, Lucy.
Mommy,
you call it the "poetry" of a child's sleep,
ohh 'n ahh, she's so, so sweet,
I call it child's "pose." Not the yoga neither.
I'm posing and rolling and cooing
biding time until you're tripping on the
Ambien retreating to a dream.
You're only reprieve.
'Cause when your *** is asleep,
I be mixing up the Play-doh,
red and yellow, black and white,
'till it's 50 shades of brown, alright?
Dirt pies from the backyard,
put 'em by the brownies
in the morning world-weary in your pajamys
Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up.
Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup
because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty."
Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?
Over my shoulder, drinking from a thermos --
stumble in your step mean you gettin' nervous--
hand me piece of paper and two crayons
macaroni orange and swamp water liaisons
these coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie.
These coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie.
"Color outside the lines, eh Lucy?
don't play by the rules," my Mommy say,
but I been around long enough to know dat
'dese rules pay. Outside the lines? Is just uh sloppy.
Been outside the club in front of the line
with my fellow shawties.
Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up.
Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup
because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty."
Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?
Chicken and fries three meals-a-day.
Chocolate milk three meals-a-day.
Tricycle boys three wheels away.
Hands on your hips can't make me stay.
Lego blocks lodged in your skull.
I've hid the Advil. The Dayquil. Drank the Nyquil though.
Alright, alright, time to get confessional.
All my ***** accidents are intentional.
I melt my own Barbies to feel alive.
Snort glue sticks just to get hella high.
Mommy, you've got a messy ketchup face.
Mommy, you've got spiders in your hair.
Mommy, you've got ****** on your pants.
Ha. Ha.
Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Bi-otch.
Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
Lightning strikes
Inside my chest to keep me up at night
Dream of ways
To make you understand my pain
Clouds of sulfur in the air
Bombs are falling everywhere
It's heartbreak warfare
Once you want it to begin,
No one really ever wins
In heartbreak warfare
If you want more love why don't you say so?
If you want more love why don't you say so?
Drop his name
Push it in and twist the knife again
Watch my face
As I pretend to feel no pain, pain, pain..
Clouds of sulfur in the air
Bombs are falling everywhere
It's heartbreak warfare
Once you want it to begin,
No one really ever wins
In heartbreak warfare.
If you want more love why don't you say so?
If you want more love why don't you say so?
Just say so...
How come the only way to know how high you get me is to see how far I fall?
God only knows how much I'd love you if you let me but I can't break through it all.
It's a heart... heartbreak...
I don't care if we don't sleep at all tonight
Let's just fix this whole thing now
I swear to God we're gonna get it right
If you lay your weapon down
Red wine and Ambien
You're talking **** again, it's heartbreak warfare
Good to know it's all a game
Disappointment has a name, it's heartbreak, heartbreak.
It's heartbreak warfare
It's heartbreak warfare
It's heartbreak warfare
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
Hydrocodone®
Lipitor®
Zithromax®
Zocor®
Zoloft®
Prozac®
Ambien®
Fosamax®
Coumadin®
Klonopin®
Neurontin®
Naproxen®
Simvastatin
Albuterol
Glucophage
Metoprolol
I am hurting
on my knees
Can't afford
any of these!
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 6:03 PM UTC
The time had come to submit to
an urge I'd long denied.
Wanted to stop the crushing pain
with a method not yet tried.
So that night I took four Ambien-
didn't care if I lived or died;
and I slipped into a deep, dark sleep-
my fleeting suicide.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
His Lady is lovely-
Her verses, Divine.
On her wit and her wisdom
we've all oft opined.
He, Texas handsome,
skin kissed by the sun
in all respects admirable
save that he snored some.
Pilloried in verse
fort his one fatal flaw,
Far too much the gentlemen,
He didn't get sore.
He didn't want her to suffer
on account of his curse
So, like a true gentleman
He'd let her sleep first.
But before he, too,
could drift off to Nod
From her side of the bed
came some sounds rather odd.
Was it a trick of his
sleep deprived brain
or did his lady love whistle
much like a Freight train?
Since its highly unlikely
she will cease and desist
and, awake, she's the Lady
his heart can't resist.
He's taken to counting sheep
with fingers and toes
till the Ambien works
and he gets some repose..
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 8:13 PM UTC
i am the frostbite
spreading through the frozen fingers of your new lover's
hands, transferred body heat
burning the skin.
i am 3 am drinks in the
pouring rain, swerving onto
oncoming traffic.
i am the ship lost at sea of our love.
i am a broken bathroom mirror.
i am an unidentified purple bruise
on the neck of your ex-lover.
i am the fork in the toaster.
i am an untuned guitar in
a filthy venue.
calloused hands against soft skin.
slam the whiskey shot down on your neck. wash the blood off in the kitchen sink.
broken blinds forcing unwanted sunlight into your nightmares.
i am the definition of breakup *** i am the
aftermath of self-hatred and one more go around.
**** just for the fun of it, just to ****
pretend you are making love. pretend this matters.
i am late night emergency room
visits for rope-burned necks.
i am the car alarm blocking out your
one night stand's profound moans.
organize your bookshelf to spell out my name in the titles.
every song on the radio
will sound like goodbye.
i am the perfect time for a first kiss. swollen lips. swollen throats. inevitably calling your name on my deathbed.
i am under-the-bed-shoeboxes filled
with ripped photos that
still smell of his cologne.
i am one more dose of ambien
to get you through the night.
overdose on love, starve your lover.
stop.
rewind.
i am the first glance in a coffee shop.
play.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC
These lines are written
In the slow nowhere zone of sleep
My fingers animated with thoughts
All their own
I don't have to pretend
Ambien's licking in
Like a donkey straight
To the beck of my neck
I've seen it done enough time
Not to fooled into thinking it's here for
Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna hara hara hara Rama. Hara Rama , ram EMram hare hare.
Maybe that's the strong wind that guided my pen
Benevolent trickster soon to.bury. The things
that make him whole
Someone is mowing theirbli
It happens on ambien
But I swear there's. Meaning somewhere hidden between bags of honey oil **** ands great changjbbbbb
He might be a nice guy...... Nice and buxom, he could eliminate the thy free of before his Pixar
My mind thinks one thing and fgisvonytspio
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 12:57 AM UTC
I've discovered a new wonder,
one that from now on should become
part of a daily routine that's yet to be
prepared and laid out.
I've discovered the music the keyboard
plays while my Ritalin brain (all are one)
bullets through space and the
imaginary library up there with the floor
shelves. That's where I'll take the ambien
and loose control of what is happening
and slow slow slow
into the stopping stop stop
the train stops.
A whole scene to add every morning
These things are magnificent
and who cares losing a friend or two
over random fits of rage when
when you get to add this
to the morning afternoon night routine.
I Am A God. The only lesson this has taught me
and 3666 words an hour is too good a devilish thing
to pass by. I will continue and spiral.
Then the sleepy haze and the tripping morning
salutes.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
Justin I forgive you, won’t you call me, your birthday must be coming soon we haven’t spoken since we moved our family into the desert. I just pray you’re not seeking cotton fever yet again, chasing the dragon, or at the very least eating school buses while falling into ‘H’ before you find yourself in bed drunk again, and on Ambien too. Dead too soon. You’ve always wondered why I didn’t introduce you to Ryan, my other incredibly dear and brotherly friend. Well wonder none more, he’s in a padded room at Mt. Sinai in Lakeview or perhaps Northwestern’s adult care unit, there was talk or at least I imagined he could make it to Lakeside Manor right there East of Foster. So it’s clemency, peace of mind, and something to loosen the edge off your back, something to let you fall, something to set your pain at weightless your mind at I-Don’t-Have-To-Give-A-Fuck-Anymore, my friend where have you been? Where have you taken yourself? Please drag yourself back at least a half-step, reverse your position and engineer an out please. I can’t begin to accept losing both of my brothers to two versions of the same disease.
Oct 20, 2019
Oct 20, 2019 at 1:10 AM UTC
a whim I thought riding about
how numerous are the title loan places
and we are getting where pharmacies
outnumber convenience stores
I used to see on every corner a bar
or a massage parlor
a fast food place
I am going so hungry I'm going now to
the corner to pawn my ambien
for some food.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
Fingernails dug out of steering wheel
in the out door, not enough gin to ****
50 pushups. 50 more. Change my body
Maybe you won't ignore
Ambien, the lull of the ceiling fan,
the crowds of protestors disband --
the blanket warm, cosmos tease and can,
malaise, malaise, I'm trying to be active
and sane, sane for the next promise ring holder
and wine cooler queen, here comes the switch:
ether.
The night brings me back to you
by way of illusion --
you've got lingerie
I've got needs
You've got teeth
I've got shoulder blades
so it begins,
white knuckle, culling songs, strain on scalp --
I sing along, ancient melody, satin dirge --
precursor to your soliloquy and black venom urge
to scatter this bandaged man--
pieces in your hand,
collected and left on 100 dressers
for ill-informed future connivers
conspire
but I'm only tired of trying not
to look like a liar
so I blend into your blood
satisfied smirk from
transparent you
but what is the future
--a present hope
but what is the past
--a present memory
so we abolish each other now
betting on tangible mirages
in this delicious, miraculous night
the stars align
the planets collide
not an inch of you goes unkissed
not an inch of me goes without an itch
blackness and breath swirl and spit
me into a confetti end time without prophet or priest
only a skinny seed, and then the switch:
wake with a present hope of getting over
my present memory.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 5:37 PM UTC
in winter we rubbed off our skin with bitter yellow soap
& danced across the murky floor of our brains.
ankle-deep in ambien, our toes scraped urchins & palms of anemone.
we built shelters in the living room
from moss-green blankets & coffee tables,
our fingers making furtive wishes in the quivering dark.
we picked small hairs & pennies out of the carpet.
when i grew hungry you offered me your left thigh
like an unwrapped christmas present.
under the aquatic quake of the fluorescent light
you fat seemed to boil
& your bed turned into a small, cold island.
we opened checking accounts under fake names
& you started to worry about your gently doming stomach.
when the mailman came, we cowered in the closet.
each year the temperature of our livers
rose a few degrees.
spring brought us flowers that smelled like DDT.
––Appears in the Spring 2013 issue of The Columbia Review.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
So.
What kind of sleep
Do you want?
The lacy white kind
Where you remember
All of your dreams,
Like glimpsing gardens
Behind cobwebs?
The kind of sleep that
slips on air,
running out of oxygen
like a drowner,
a sleep where
you recall
the hour you
closed your eyes?
Or do you want a
Sledgehammer?
A total blackout,
A sudden death,
Oblivious to fires
And burglaries
And nightmares?
Asleep so fast you
Can barely make out
Legs,
A marathon of hours
Done.
****** or Ambien?
C’mon,
Choose and hush up,
Morning’s waiting.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC
Tryna brave the belly of the beast
But this enemy of me
Has got hands-
I’ve never metaphor for anxiety
Like this one
Imposter syndrome-
I was only a dark forest away
from who I needed to be
But feelings of self-doubt and inadequacy
Are twisting clouds so forebodingly
Mara’s army fires arrows
Raining streams of self-consciousness
Like I wasn’t ready to self destruct
on impact -
detonation
I laugh and share memes of self-deprecation
Social media the new god
Where we worship ourselves
By constantly trying to impress
everyone else
Venmo me Dopamine tributes
With the truth in a cave of
depression and
Isolation
Maybe Holly’s right
And I do need to be here
She shines the light
On the darkness
In the hospital wing
5th floor at Evanston
But I’m afraid I’ve grown too codependent
On this astral plane
I’ve projected
And romanticized
these Ambien nights
Only to awake neglected
Screaming out her name
In sleep paralysis
On a dark night-
When I’m manic
I try to live it out like I’m in a movie
Projecting inner struggles
As external conflicts
To make the scene more interesting
Until I’m in this final battle alone like Odysseus
Lost all my friends when the monster ate our ship and I took em for granted caught up
Between a rock and a hard place-
Depressed and Hyper-sexualization
when spring is here again
I’m in the first act dip
edging the ******
Stimulating the simulation
May 9, 2021
May 9, 2021 at 3:43 AM UTC
I am quiet in front of the ambient lights.
Confronted among these Ambien nights,
with alluvial life, a hot bed of technical idolatry-
It is hard in the valley of the sun
the people who over-extend
self, carry impotence and
a loaded gun-
The land of geriatrics filled with frolicking snowbirds
who cast out their alcoholic offspring
to grind under gears of the economic machine.
Modern man is genuflecting in the sanctimonious pantheon of self.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC
Through anxiety's loss,
I entered a shop,
And was introduced to my new friend,
Ambien
We couldn't keep our hands off each other,
So I kissed her twice before leaving the store.
We then went on a little walk, I wanted to know more about her but I really had to read into it.
We arrived home at my girlfriends house,
Surprisingly, to my luck, everybody enjoyed Ambien being around.
She gave everybody a good laugh,
And seemed always warm and
welcoming to the point,
in which we would become confused.
One evening after spending too much
time with Ambie. My brain began to,
ooze and melt from too much affection.
Arguing with walls,
countless eyes, all staring at me.
Talking to ghosts,
asking them to leave.
As I woke up that night,
I looked to my right.
To realize Amber had left me.
Going through casual short terms monthly.
I still find pieces of her, and I'm clueless Do I ingest or understand that the past is the past.
Am I more comfortable now or was I too comfortable then?
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC
My greatest condolences to the woman who loves me.
My body fears your love of me and constantly repeats the mantra of you leaving but you seem to stand even closer when I break. You tell me every time you aren't going anywhere but the pure unfamiliarity is because you, are the single thing I have ever loved, and never hated.
My greatest condolences, because I'm hard to love.
Your hands graze the body that I live in that I refuse to own. I imagine them painting my soul, covering the black holes with the colors of fall. You tell me you love every inch and I wonder about the centimeters. I take your kiss like a pill used to subside the symptoms of his neglect.
My greatest condolences, because I never believe you at first.
People are not medicine but your face helps me sleep more than ambien ever did and no, your are not going to cure me but I will survive. I do not need a cure, I need management. I take you every night before bed and wake up thinking about your arms caressing my side, yes, I said MY side. I'll admit that this body is my own as long as you're touching it, as long as your hands are soft on my skin.
My greatest condolences because you are the prescription that cannot skip
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
Ich fühle mich wie wir in einem früheren Leben erfüllt
(I feel like we met in a former life)
Auch…where are my manners
English, right
I feel like we met not in this life
But before
And by “met” I mean loved
I have no idea how
We share common things
Und our eyes meet whenever we think the other isn’t looking
Maybe I’m going crazy under Hitler’s hand
I don’t feel like I’m in the right state of mind
But I feel like we’ve loved
Once upon a time
Have I met you before
Because you seem super familiar
I think you were my neighbor before I moved
Because I remember the pretty girl
Next door with brown hair
We played in my back yard and pretended to be aliens
Then made macaroni art
That’s us….on a hill….holding hands
You fell and got a boo boo on your elbow
And I put a dinosaur band-aide on it
We road bikes to the park and we swinged
Remember my best friend Johnny? His birthday party?
Well you were there and I got cake in your hair and you cried…
I gave you a gift on valentines day
It was a flower I put in a purple box
my mom planted in my yard
And later she yelled at me and put me in the corner for digging it up
I shared my dairy queen milkshake with you
Even though It was chocolate and that’s my favorite flavor
And I was really surprised because you said that was your favorite too
Do you remember…
No…?
Oh okay sorry.
You can come over and play with some of my toys if you want
I like your shoes…
I met her in a past life,
In February, new grass reaching through snow
This funeral only reminds me of
Vibrations in my spine when she’d leave
Symphony strings come in
Crushing all my Ambien
Recreating Adam and Eve
I could feel my disgusting old heart pulse
When I became her.
When she took over me.
I remember
Watching life go by like movies
Ich erinnere mich (I remember)
Dancing in ballrooms to records
I remember
Young bodies in *** Minds dowsed in ecstasy
I remember you
Our dying won’t stop euphoria like this
It’ll just be put on hold for a while
Emotions becoming a straight beaming line
Because I’ll meet her again
All we’ll do is change the date and time
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 2:17 AM UTC
Ambien Angel,
Hallucinate
a halo
to replace
the self-doubt
that you’ve got
wrapped around
your mind
We only talk
at times
of
Swirling
self-destructive
forces
I felt your
distress call
through the ether
Spiraling
down
down
wrapped
in a cloud
of smoke, whiskey
and Bukowski
There you were,
The American Spirit
staring back
from the
Apothic abyss
of red wine
and controlled
prescriptions.
We all
get so alone sometimes
in Tales of Ordinary Madness
It just makes sense
to let another
Siren sing our ships
towards crimson catastrophe
But you handle
the collisions
so gracefully
Looking so
******* divine
like your name
This time
Go lightly
and let’s float
away
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 4:53 PM UTC
When I saw the rush of red
I panicked
sobered up
Ambien no longer had its sleepy hands around my throat
I threw my silver knight against the shower wall
Ran out shivering and naked into the hallway
Dripping life force
I made the mistake of telling someone
Because only the next day in the white four walled cell containing me
Did I realize how much I wanted to no longer exist
I laid in bed for three days on and off crying and shaking
Finally got released
To an even more cold family
Even more estranged from everyone I know
And everyone that thought they knew me
I act happy jump threw your hoops
Make sure I seem back to normal
And every night go to bed
praying to not wake up in this life
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
Money cannot buy happiness
My mother
Has a collection of jewelry
Diamonds are her favorite
Hers are pure and glimmering
She wears them on her hands
And over her heart
She has a collection
Of shiny things
They all sit pretty on her body
Glowing against her tan skin
But their worth is still not enough
To cure her instability
Or ease the anxiety that never leaves
She has all of these beautiful things
But still relies on antidepressants and nicotine
To make it through the day
And even after that
She is still not content
Money does not buy happiness
My father
Has a love for cars
He has spent his earnings
On greatly crafted vehicles
They are kept well and clean
They glisten
Shining almost as bright
As my mother's diamonds
They are fast
And smooth
Like his collection of fine liquor
All of the bottles lined up neatly
15 year, 18 year, 20
All of them rich in age
He has a lot of nice things
But at the end of the day
Still requires multiple glasses of whiskey
To wash out the bitterness of life
And the memories
Of how close he came to losing it
He has all of these cars
That take him from place to place
But it is still he
Who has to drag himself out of bed
Each morning to face the world
And even then
He is still not at ease
Money cannot buy happiness
Celebrities
Have lives that most would envy
But even they can be consumed by darkness
And fall victim to their own sadness
Money cannot buy happiness
The man who lives next door
Has a beautiful house
And a lot of things
To fill it
His home is never empty
But I can tell that he is
His eyes give it away
Money cannot buy happiness
I have
So much to be thankful for
I am provided
With more than one could ever need
And my level of privilege is beyond doubt
But most days
I struggle to make it through this one
And on to the next
It is always a never ending battle
Between me and myself
Between my mind and my sanity
Most nights
I fall asleep to a mix of ambien and panic
Having to **** my thoughts
With substance
I am overwhelmed
By constant fear
By frequent depersonalization and depression
Often feeling sad and then guilty
Because I have everything
I could ever ask for
But I am still not happy
These material things
Are not enough
To fill the gaping hole expanding within me
And there is a lot
That money can buy
But happiness
Is not one of them.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 5:45 PM UTC
i don't know much
about life and love
but i know far too much
about falling apart
and the hatred for this city
and those around you
who watched you fall
but did not extend a hand
to help you up
they simply watched
with looks far too amused
pressed upon lips
that once said, 'i love you'
and eyes that once read, 'i need you'
until you began to crumble
and realization struck
(there were no meds)
(there was no therapist)
(there was no one to turn to)
"it's over and i'm so sorry,
but i woke up one morning
and i just didn't care
it's not you, it's me."
you speak with such
elegance and such class
(sarcasm)
but it's okay because
i never
loved
you
"if you love me
let me go"
your tight grip against my wrists
thumbs digging into my veins
teeth clawing into necks
hooked on kisses i never really felt
and words that never really meant
anything to either of us
yet we're here
and letting go isn't an option anymore
i can't get you out of my head
where you got lost in my thoughts
and made a home for yourself
like a parasite
the doctor just says i'm depressed
(ativan, prozac, celexa, ambien)
but no, no, i know it's you
and your slow whispers
telling me how worthless i am
don't you think i already know?
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 12:13 PM UTC
Ambien is a drug
A pill which makes you sleep
And all I can say
Is that it's very reassuring
That I will sleep tonight
Even if it means
That I cannot dream
Because who needs night dreams
When you have day thoughts
Like mine
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
Oh, gentlemen, gentlemen
gentlemen, no.
He exclaimed Oh
The crow in the blue specked mansion
has not yet showered
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
At 2:30 a.m., I drink a beer,
as if it is a crushed Ambien.
I light a joint (the parents are gone for the weekend).
My girlfriend is asleep in the basement,
eyes closed, lightly snoring,
the left side of her face is covered in scars
and burn marks.
I look around my room:
white and blue Ralph Lauren shirts
hang from the lampshade,
the collars and sleeves are layered with dust.
The bookcase is littered
with shoeboxes, novels,
and poetry collections.
I take a drag from my joint
and realize my ears are full of static,
as if they had been packed
with black and white TV sets.
There’s the faint sound
of a car
passing by.
The car is a reminder: Civilization,
glass buildings,
happy hour
at my favorite hole-in-the wall
in Chinatown.
I’m naked, but
not totally bare.
All I’m wearing are blue boxer briefs,
as though it is my uniform
for my current occupation
as a poet.
The blinds are open
and I wonder if I open the window and jump out,
will anyone give a ****
My therapist will probably label me as suicidal,
if I mention that last thought.
I think I’m just restless and idle.
I take another chug from my beer.
I’m hunched over a notebook,
and writing with a blue pen,
not because I think I’m an authentic writer.
But because my computer’s in the basement
and I don’t want to wake her; I love her.
But I can’t stand her critiques, in regards to me.
Maybe I can’t handle the harshness
in her honesty, as if it is a foreign language
coming from a stranger who I’ve known for years.
I’m not sleepy.
I’m scared.
Scared about growing up,
scared about having to stop
giving a ****
and finally having
to care about
my life.
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 12:47 PM UTC