"amphetamines" poems
Whisky, I neglected you
For mushrooms and amphetamines.
For ket and **** and LSD,
And Mandy too, to name a few.
Needn’t I have looked so far
To be the greatest of cliches.
The drugs and raves led me astray.
For writers, scotch is more on par.
Half your bottle drank away,
Half full in my state of mind.
Every sip; sublime and kind,
Every **** a harshened spray.
Now I’m stuck, a drunken haze
Has washed and swept the ways of rhyme.
In its tide is also time,
As by the sun, the night decays.
Whisky, polished, final sip.
Like the bottle, I am dry.
So, I tried, to write not high.
This poem ***** I’m off to trip.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 9:07 AM UTC
Her mind is an observatory.
A really fun one. You know,
With rock candy at the entrance,
And a gift shop full of unique keepsakes.
Like compassion.
And warmth.
And when you step inside,
Her constellations are painted upon the dome ceiling,
Telling a story only visible
To those willing to connect the dots.
A story of glowing blues
And scattered specks
Of burning red,
With a dark void
Occupying the gaps
You so desperately wish to fill.
She has an entire solar system
Inside of her,
Hidden within the stars.
A heart as gold as the sun.
A soul as old as she wants.
And when she speaks,
You fall in love.
Because you don't have a choice.
Her voice echoes amphetamines
Along the walls of my skin.
Her smile shines
Like the crooked panels
On every straight paved sidewalk
I've ever known.
And when I look into her eyes,
The universe stares back.
I think she's a goddess.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 9:04 AM UTC
i played Dolores Haze
sitting sideways on your lap
on your birthday
i felt kidnapped
by incessant language
i felt intrigued by genius.
i kissed the brunette above your lip
old fashioned mustached man.
pastry eyes i could've eaten for days.
my second gemini
was thin and frail
high on amphetamines
and drunk on ego
he weaved in and out of me
like a snake looking for peace.
he fidgeted nervously
after every ******
i gave him
(or he gave himself on top of me)
mercurial men
hell bent on
changing the world
with no aid beyond
the words in their mouths
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 9:49 PM UTC
Day One:
A voice speaks to me.
When you realize that being lost is so close to being found, you see a sea of family members plagued within the lineage of licentious newborns and hospital beds. You become yourself, a lisp.
Day Two:
Long ago in a city left unscorned he was torn, from the cokeheads and colorful regimes, angels sing long songs of separation anxiety and **** withdrawal. I was torn from the deadbeats of supposed society and three day vicodin trips into my mind. So can you let me know when I get there? ‘Cause I left there running…I wonder, did someone ever tell you that two strangers could twist around your neck at beck and that three parked cars and seventeen lonely nights could haunt you for the rest of your faces.
Day Three:
Tell me of your drug induced hallucinations.
Day Four:
Wait. Hear. Can’t you listen to the relapse? Stop, think. No. gone. Left. Love. Return. My curious addiction. Go back into yourself and listen. Can’t you hear your soul call to me? It’s loud.
Day Five:
I remember prizes at the bottoms of cereal boxes, right before the net broke. Will you be first? Snap back to reality.
It’s dark in here. Wretch from me… I am crying, screaming,
haha! I’m melting inside!
Day Six:
By plucking her petals you do not gather the beauty of the flower, but the seed inside
Caked over in grief, we are not plates that match. But fools of folly caught in a sea of coke and disillusioned discord. Speed stands between directing and orders to death’s soldiers.
Day Seven:
The difference between God and his counterpart is that he makes exceptions!
Except me.
Day Eight:
Accept me!
Please.
Wait.
No.
don’t slow,
speed.
I can only take so much forgiveness,
is a decision, and I cannot make it.
I am without it, leave me breathless.
Day Nine:
The angel of death waits
He comes for me, but I am running, finding, hiding my inner Nemo in the hands of oxycodon, privileged in the amenities of amphetamines.
I am tired of running!
Haggard.
Take away my hands, my restraints.
Let me feel
again.
Please.
Day Ten:
I am awake.
There is an apple in my field of vision.
Kiss it. Love it.
Take it to hedonism and back again.
But it knows too much.
So tell it everything will be ok.
It lives in epilepsy.
So placate it.
Resurrect my apocalypse.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC
There lived a man in Shady Hills,
sits home all day, popping pills.
Morning, noon and night,
not any real food in sight.
Drinks water from the tap,
too wired to take a nap.
Percocets all **** day,
Vicodin is the only way.
Xanax in the night time,
****** he buys for a dime.
Oxycontin, he keeps hidden,
his hiding spot is forbidden.
Takes Abilify for his mood swings,
taking Amphetamines gives him wings.
More skinny than a rail,
in life he sure did fail.
Ecstasy, he keeps under lock and key,
he doesn't give away any pills for free.
At thirty he ended up with cirrhosis of the liver,
he didn't care about his new founded quiver.
Popped pills til his death,
at least he never smoked ****
Died at the age of thirty two,
in his stomach was pill stew.
Just another sad lost soul,
popping pills will someday take a toll.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 1:10 AM UTC
there are no limits
on speed,
no bumps to impede
that singular rush of inspiration,
that surging wave we ride
to euphoric highs
defying doubt and disbelief
within and throughout
these paths least-travelled
where rhythmic beats
of compulsion
thrill the air
way beyond the mean,
and we glide
over ambiguous bell
curves
dispelling conspicuous myths
and null hypotheses
with relative ease
where iambic warriors
and wordsmiths,
high on lyrical amphetamines,
wage epic battles
of verse and rhyme
and the blood of creativity
is spilled onto
finite scrolls and screens
where the thoughts and dreams
of poets, peasants and pimps
reign
eternal
~ P ( Pablo)
(8/2/2013)
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 3:32 PM UTC
Amphetamines in the dark.
Sitting here, heart pounding.
All bite and no bark.
My shame compounding.
I’ve been up for days.
Heart beating, chest thumping.
I navigate the haze.
My internal engine pumping.
Amphetamines in the dark.
I haven’t had this energy in years.
All started by a spark.
It will only end in tears.
Aug 1, 2020
Aug 1, 2020 at 10:41 PM UTC
Strip myself from amphetamines
Detox just to retox with anxiety
Manifested creativity
My madness got a hold of the pen again
palpitating shock waves of my manic imagination
I guess it's better to be aware of it
while the rest are possessed by self-destruction
or obsessed with reality distraction devices
Falling victim to their own vices
Held down by euphoric bliss
can't get enough self-ignorance
Shot up vain
to the ego's heartbeat
Submissive strains
on the evolution of reality
28 days late
The full moon's on the horizon of our own sanity
holding us down with gravity
While our howls take flight
in lycanthropy
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
I send my hopes
and universal powers above
hoping you feel
nothing but
the eternal forces of love.
That your tired soul
may rest,
for its eternal age
letting all past pain
of long gone days
fade away.
For every soul that met yours,
and looked eye to eye
opened their souls
and spilled their guts
when they found out you died.
And I,
distant as I seem
hope that somewhere, somehow
you are following
your dreams.
May his young soul rest in peace
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC
. what's the difference between
thieves, and magicians?
not much...
both have quick hands...
and an awake,
yet asleep public communal
presence...
the thief has a public of
the victim,
and the c.c.t.v. "stage"...
the magician?
has a public of the crowd,
and the "dajjal" stage of
a camera replenishing
a concept of:
not enough public...
thieves and magicians are
bedfellows...
you allow one to flourish...
the antithesis will come
along, and in an indiscriminate
fashion...
allow the "magic" / "thieving"
to take place...
what is a magician,
a public figure... compared...
to a thief?
i can't see the difference...
the audience was fooled
by the magician...
the individual was fooled
by the thief...
are they... so much unlike
each other?
magicians can own
a theater stage...
thieves, sometimes... just sometimes...
own the, basic...
pointlessness of english
c.c.t.v. mechanics,
to make police officers make:
a follow-up investigation...
oh, but i have genius
interrogation practices...
no one wants to listen to...
like 10 hours straights of listening
to stefan molyneux...
or 48 hours, sleep deprived...
listening to BBC 24 hour news reels...
that **** could crack anyone...
what the americans did to the Iraqis?
last time i heard...
they blasted the slayer oeuvre
down headphones into their ears...
Americans... feeding conquered
Iraqis with a slayer oeuvre?
BRAVO! BRAVO! ENCORE!
and didn't the encore come?
******* retards...
crows feeding seagull chicks
with sinew and
regurgitated scavenger meat!
if only they played them some
Bach...
i'm pretty sure...
the Iraqis would still be left...
disorientated...
but the American army "interrogators"...
ha ha!
played them the slayer oeuvre!
WEE-TARDS!
anyone... and i mean anyone:
will relieve themselves as being
"tortured": doubly charged up,
and ready to ingest hyper-coffee
in the form of the Luftwaffe tactic
of ingesting amphetamines
(pervitin) -
night-raids... the londoonoirnischt
blitz, sloth krieg...
ya ya yawn...
urgh... burp...
and always... those poncy -
english, gay, aristocratic men...
and their... psychotropic women...
so what's the difference between
a common thief...
and a spectacle magician?
one "owns" cctv footage,
the other owns a stage...
yet both share a: quicksilver
take on, what cannot be
interpreted in either handwriting
or stenography...
hmm...
can't be sure whether
both could be considered legal.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 12:16 AM UTC
i will need two good memories
and a bad one
i have a magic disappearing act
a left handed shaman
an ugly critic who sits alone with no electric
i have metaphors for ********
i have lower case egos
and
i don't got time for yours
i have a riot in my mind
a revolution on my fingertips
it exists
in the spaces i quit/like deadbeat dads
leave fingerprints
misplaced and misguided daughters; let's run so fast the stars call us light
speed, like we don't need amphetamines
We have our own disappearing act
starts in the bones
starves you to marrow
The smaller we get the less you react
so we take up too much space, we elbow, we pose, we leave livingrooms and bedrooms and kitchens and killing time jobs, we leave jaws on floor, we leave sand in mouths, we no map, we motherless, we huge, we funeral black, we native land, we penny talk, we memory, we instinct, we stream, we bleed, we walk
don't follow
leave no trail
this is the third act
we need you back for curtain call
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
The crystal was perfectly aligned.
It exposed an image of the day I left seamlessly.
But it also echoed the future,
the design of tomorrow.
I wouldn’t follow my wildest dreams,
but I couldn’t say the misuse was improbable.
To the next phase in my elegant maneuver,
I gather the strength from my abysmal insides.
Wide open were the gates of hell.
I withheld.
Then continued,
as the outline of forever,
forever guided me.
Time was traveled.
And as passing eras bettered my intellectual design,
I redefined the reality of Sir Hawkins.
Time travel.
So true.
My speed was increasing,
as was my very corpus.
*And as it did,
so I transcended.*
Amended such as our legitimate antiquity
of the dickity desire.
The feeling of an outwordly choir
singing you to sleep while injecting you
with futuristic methyl-amphetamines.
I dreamt of better things,
but too late.
For I've descended into tomorrow,
and the decisions of the borrowed souls
will cease to follow.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 4:22 AM UTC
I think my cat's a drug addict,
but it's difficult to know.
It could be a problem with *******
by the way he bats at snow.
I've already considered amphetamines
seeing the way his ear's perk;
though maybe its caffeine withdrawal,
some days he's such a ****
He could be hooked on ecstasy,
his pupils often grow wide.
Sometimes I suspect he's dropping acid
since he just stares outside.
It's possible he's smoking ***
he's always in a haze.
Maybe he's popping too many pills,
as sleep takes up most days.
My cat could be on ketamine
and eating magic shrooms.
It explains his invisible friends at night
that he chases from room to room.
He could be 'Chasing The Dragon'
like he chases his tail or ball;
Or **** or hash, or bath salts,
hell, he's probably on them all!
I should do something about it soon,
he's becoming very dramatic.
Tomorrow I'll check him into rehab,
because I think my cat's an addict.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC
She snorts her Ritalin
she snorts her xanex
she snorts her *******
before she has ***
She loves her codeine
and her amphetamines
her world spins so fast
she needs some Dramamine
she buys and sells pills,
writes prescriptions
she skips most meals
to feed her addictions
light up a cigarette
gulp down a percocet
mix uppers and downers
hoping that they offset
she takes bottle after bottle
of pills and alcohol
she just tips it back
and swallows it all
a walking pharmacy
a waiting tragedy
a princess of pills
her Medicated Majesty
Apr 6, 2011
Apr 6, 2011 at 7:12 AM UTC
Your heart is made of silicone
I know, because it bends and changes form
I shake and I tremble
Because I don't know if you'll love me tomorrow
Your head is made of marble
I know, because it's hard and chiseled a newly mood
I shake and I tremble
Because I don't know if you'll remember me tomorrow
Your eyes are made of rollers
I know, because you never look at me for too long
I shake and I tremble
Because I don't know if you'll find me beautiful tomorrow
Your feet are made of amphetamines
I know, because you always walk away and around
I shake and I tremble
Because I don't know if you'll be here when I wake up tomorrow
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 3:11 PM UTC
1.
Exposed train platform
And the type of wind that goes right through you
A small cup of coffee clutched tight in naked hands
The only source of heat
2.
Quiet café on Saturday morning
Two friends long estranged
Brought together by bad news
3.
Half-punched coffee cards
A daily routine
Five cups and the next one’s free
4.
Don’t talk to me before I’ve had my coffee
Because I might still be half-asleep
And if I see you I’ll think I’m dreaming
5.
She takes a nap
I take a coffee break
6.
Greeting the sunrise with the day’s first cup of coffee
After walking to the bus through the snow
And riding the bus through unfriendly streets
The snow melting through the window and the wait for class to start
7.
Greeting the sunrise with the day’s fifteenth cup of coffee
Or fifth hit of amphetamines
At the moment two days become one
8.
“Let’s get coffee sometime”
“I don’t like coffee”
“Tea, then?”
But I guess you don’t drink either
9.
My first week in a new city
Walking along the arterial at night to meet you
At a coffee shop
It’s small, just me and the man playing guitar
And two other customers
No, wait
One of them is getting behind the counter
So one other customer
You aren’t there yet
I don’t know if you’ll show
So I sit and fiddle with the chess pieces on the table
While I drink
10.
When entrees have come and gone
And dessert is just a memory
We’ll still be in this restaurant
With just ourselves
Our coffee &
Our conversation
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 6:51 PM UTC
To tell the story of the nice-guy
is to tell a tale of unlost innocence.
There is no complexity that circumstance can’t remedy. There is no effort
to niceness; only a ****** world that blossoms
on genetically mutated ideology, growing larger than generations past.
Tomorrow, in Houston,
a butcher will wake up to slaughter a cow he may have named.
There will no be no tears when he grills steak for the wife he wooed
and the children he prescribed himself.
Three daughters,
from fifteen to twenty-two.
Tiramisu for dessert.
Ten guns in the cabinet beneath the stairs
and innocence buried behind the woodshed.
Pretend now, that you are forgiven.
Mistakes fade like snow angels, regrets
float like chemtrails.
You love you as much as the world always did.
You have not seen friends struck down by powders or lunacy,
you have only lived in the glow of their light. Hearts remain full.
The word swagger hasn’t been hijacked by hip hop
and bluejeans still mask imperfections. Sunsets are memorable,
and so are first dates and last kisses.
Sun won't blister fragile shoulders.
Fields blossom just in time to suit your irregular taste buds,
satisfying sweet corn cravings on Christmas.
Forget your father’s words
or a stranger's hand.
Forget improbability, impossibility,
impotence, importance,
impatience
and improper goodbyes.
Forget the tears cried alone
into ***** filled sheets at midnight.
Forget the effect but remember the cause,
camouflaged like a landmine of good ideas.
Forget the fights and slow-turn walk-aways
that turned words flaccid.
Forget friends ******* ex-girl friends
and amphetamines crashing into hallucinations.
Nice-guys vanish like good ideas,
lost in the shuffle,
looking for pen and paper,
just like house cats die
on the forth of July,
and all that’s left are ashes
on a mantel
alongside fraudulent grins.
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 7:42 PM UTC
Because it's not the hollow life
of 8 to 5 in some cubicle hell.
No one feels more alive
and outside the banality
of plain old existence
than when surrounded
by violent, random death.
The ultimate rush of being.
Stronger than amphetamines,
******* the best ****** ever.
Terrified, horrified, fascinated,
but more alive than you'll
ever be again.
If you survive, in your
secret heart you will
always miss it.
~mce
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 8:40 AM UTC
dionysus,
i beg,
plague me with your drunken spirit,
free me of my heavy heart,
let me revel in your happiness,
i beg,
let me,
let me.
dionysus,
king of the party,
spirit of the drugs,
protector of the drinks,
make me high
higher
than ever before
take me to ecstasy
let me taste your amphetamines
let me feel and feel
until i can feel no more.
feelings are boring now,
and they only feel like a deep, brooding ghost
waiting to pounce on me
and weigh me down.
DIONYSUS,
how long will i scream your name?
how long will i be tormented by your silence?
come to me with your fun spirit of party,
plague me with the spirit of relaxation,
i want what you can give me.
release,
sweet release.
i want it all,
i want to dream of trees turning into lollipops
and hydrangeas looking like candyfloss.
i want to be far away,
so far away,
that i can never come back down.
but,
but,
only for a bit,
only until i feel better,
only until i am happy again.
can you do that for me dionysus?
can you?
because, you see,
i can't do without help,
i need help to do everything.
i need help to be happy,
and you have what i want.
it feels like i am chanting the same thing over and over
you are just like everyone,
you all never listen.
YOU NEVER LISTEN!
you just sit and watch.
watching me drown.
i am plummeting,
and the most all of you can do
is to record my downfall.
and dionysus you have my cure,
but you won't give it to me.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 2:52 AM UTC
“Mommy! Mommy! I'm crying!”
Jumping in the rocking chair
“Baby, sit down, stop your whining.”
Tearing a stranger’s underwear
“Mommy! Mommy! I feel sick!”
Sharp words spoken through *****
“Sweetie, would you stop your joking?”
A freshly rolled joint made for smoking
“Mommy! Mommy! I can't breathe!”
Hysteria from the panic
“Dearest, just take some pills, please.”
On the drugs from the attic
“Mommy! Mommy! My chest hurts!”
Rapid pounding through the shirt
“Honey, shut up, drink your bottle.”
Alcohol straight from the nozzle
“Mommy! Mommy! I'm choking!”
Falling into a seizure
“Darling, would you quit your moaning?”
A midnight ***** all too eager
“Mommy! Mommy! I'm bleeding!”
The sound of terrified weeping
“Sweetheart, all you need is some sleep.”
Gone too high on amphetamines
“Mommy! Mommy! I'm dying!”
Skin starting to change color
“Baby, lay down, stop your whining.”
Forgetting to be a mother.
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 2:44 PM UTC
Lead ***** Indian
glowing on the desert
horizon
plastered on a postcard
taped to the dashboard
your palm reads like a road map
to hell and back
scars made up and stapled shut
lipstick stained paper cup
crystallized amphetamines in a bag
coat hanger lock pick
got me in
not out of this
drink up little darling
liquor costs me nothing
tongue on your neck
sharp teeth on your neck
dull teeth on your neck
love me to death
**** me to death
drink me to death
share a cigarette
yeah yeah
share a cigarette
all your gonna get
all youll ever get
down in the canyon
with the coyotes
they all wanna know
all wanna show
what im dealin with
up up goes the bottle
down down goes the fire
into my head
playing with knives
got me ******
standing up straight
stumble heavy
apologizing for preying
on a defensless calf
blood suckle sunday
desert flavored sundae
rattle snake humming
son of a preacher
call call
yellow eye
call call
blue eye
call all the children
back to the fold
I'm part of the pack now
feeling so fast now
teeth to the throat now
yeah yeah heavy is the lust
heavy is the lust
heavy is the lust
heavy is the lust
heavy is the lust
heavy is the lust
for blood] for ****
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 1:00 PM UTC
The weight of life is reduced to a cloud
As raindrops of lysergic acid run free.
Their pitters and patters equally loud
As all of the colours that melt around me.
The womb of the universe beating its drum
And setting a pace for the flowers to bloom.
A force with such strength that all nature succumbs
As peacefulness floats in kaleidoscope flumes.
Empathy blossoms, arousing a smile,
That creeps from my lips to the end of the room,
Searing itself on a cosmic denial
That beauty like this shouldn’t gestate from gloom.
Floating, not unlike a dandelions seed,
Thoughts of anxiety flee to the Earth.
They carry but vapidness with the sweet breeze.
In nebulous nebulas they are dispersed.
Now what remains as a warm neon cloud
Is beauty profound and purpose pristine.
Unwanted, the ego is left disavowed
Dancing in memories of amphetamines.
Left in its place was the beauty and I.
Climbing like vines as it forces the walls.
Pushing them down with an ******** sigh,
Revealing a cosmos that rhythmically calls:
‘Freedom is such a deplorable word.
It offers ambitions too fruitful to take.
Though comfort or not,
As with fictitious plot,
It’s only as real as it’s fake.’
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
Listen to me!
I cough out my tales of woe!
I'm so hurt!
I'm so terribly low!
Blow me up,
With your pipe and your cup,
Give me the stuff,
So I can forgive you and away I'll go,
I act like I can't hear you,
It's the only pass-time I enjoy!
Toss and turn as if you don't know,
Don't play coy,
With me,
I'll smack you into next week,
By then you'll have resolved yourself!
Amphetamines!
THC Dreams!
Smash this bottle!
Drown in whiskey!
Killer combinations eat me time after time.
I made it all up in my head,
So I could afford some counterfeit meds!
Pocket pills,
My own free will,
For my psycho-somatic need to ****
The painless solution,
Found at the bottom of an alcoholic potion!
We are addicted to a lie!
Begging for another chance to say "Goodbye!"
And I know now there's no wrong or right,
Tie your lips to a stem and watch it ignite!
And we'll scream,
Amphetamines!
THC Dreams!
Smash this bottle!
Drown in whiskey!
It's like we live for nothing,
Pretend to **** yourself,
So you'll feel like something,
Break some hearts just to know you can,
Those pills in your pocket will make you fly before you land!
If you haven't noticed.
There's nothing wrong with you.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
I'm on one
Been trapped in a buzz for four or six months
Since that I've pulled a few stunts
My mind, opposite judgement of a nun's
So I tend to act rugged when it comes
I'm on one
Zapped down by these side effects
Trapped now, take benzos to alleviate
More and more as the effects depreciate
Good for a few hours
But I need to finish this report, so I give myself powers
Amphetamines by all means
I had a dream once, but now I cant sleep
Don't use guns, to do this damage to myself
Going through funds to do this damage to myself
I'm on one
Is it worth it in the long run?
I've Seen what happens and it isn't fun
But how can I do this job without them
Be out of water, desperate as a trout, man
Aches and pains I think I have the gout man
Take pain killers, the real brain killers
I'm on one
Tipping over while typing these words
Tripping over how I got this net worth
Incognito, reputation with the best first
Wish I could reveal, but I'd have no appeal
They'd think I went bananas
See I no longer have the fun that I had before hand
Gleam in the Rover like the sweat against my forehead
Blasting AC on max, thinking about paying tax
But I already am, my kidneys show the facts
Because I'm on one
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 1:49 AM UTC