"coked" poems
Work is boring, I'd
Rather be home sleeping in
A nice comfy bed
Work is boring, I'd
Rather be smoking a joint
And watching TV
Work is boring, I'd
Rather be drinking a beer
And drunk barroom brawls
Work is boring, I'd
Rather be out surfing the
Gnarly ocean waves
Work is boring, I'd
Rather stick my arm in a
Blender; cause some fun
Work is boring, I'd
Rather be out banging some
Coked up prostitutes
Work is boring, I'd
Rather dig my brain out thru my
My ears with a fork
Work is boring, you
Can tell because I'm writing
Too many haikus
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 8:43 AM UTC
Cellar door
cell
door
Sell my soul
just a little more
*****
for a cellar
that holds nothing
but an empty,
empty nothing
nothing but nonsense
sense
sense
My cents, two cents
lined up on the door
lined up
Coked up, on the mirror
let me disappear
behind the cellar
cellar door
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 5:37 PM UTC
Smoking *** can make you lose your job
Drinking liquor can make you lose your liver
Smoking tobacco can make you lose your lungs
Eating McDonalds can make you lose your heart
Drinking soda can make you lose your feet
Snorting coke can get your high(ered) in congress
You can lose your feet, liver, lungs, and heart while coked up in congress
But you can't smoke ***
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC
Mind body lump
sushi tastes people
blanket's warm sausage
loopy plaid pants
mimosa fueled mathematics
map making pancakes
waffles don't know ****
Add chicken and enjoy.
Dance like a coked up Napoleon
ecstatic to heard Vincent Price reading Poe
while Moby **** writes rhymes opined to killer wale
princes and lords.
Service the dinosaur's automobile
when you get a chance
don't dance on like a midnight acid FLOWER
power of the hour scours the loud crowd
to life after death.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
we plant the seeds of our own destruction
"everything in moderation."
here I am in backlash station,
braiding my hair
with poison in my lungs,
on my breath,
in my stare.
my silver tongue has an alchemists tooth
a lung for a lung and the whole world's done
anti-smoke anti-drink anti-fry
diet coked, diet thinking, diet guy
yes, he's gonna die
bleeding through his finger tips
we touch lips, hips? say goodbye,
maybe take him home next time.
he's got me in a bind
stuck in his rhyme
he peeled me from the core
though I had a rind
but the fruit which I drink
is GMO such as he,
the fluoride in my sink.
a love poem made me think
a tag is such a drag
because a label isn't me,
a price could be
innocence
mystery
a held too close and you're history
he sent to me
late night called to see
if the aches from which I break have calmed down to be
more of a lesson than a test,
more of a sleep than a restlessness.
there's no one who should have to witness this...
"I'll be okay."
maybe I'll say it again...
"I'll be okay."
For once and forward because I want to,
a lot of people said I didn't have a choice but to
and I don't want to hurt any of you,
with the insanity of keeping things in
with the feelings that I simply suppressed
thought he made me happy and undressed
foolishly traded my tears for alcohol
sweet words for smoke, true love for a joke.
I've lost all I could lose
let him take all that I thought could be took,
and now I finally see what was to be had all along,
what was there all along...
you all were right and I was wrong.
I ran away, that's not okay,
but I'm back and here today.
I love you all, I love you most,
I wont push you away, so hold me close.
I'm breaking and aching, I'm shedding out tears,
I'm sorry for masking and mashing my fears.
I know I don't know and I wish to learn quick,
there's not that much time and there's no love in a ****
excuse my bad language for I do not speak French...
I'll stop with the jokes and go for what's true,
there's no more emptiness in the words "I love you".
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
HANGING WITH THE GALLO(W) BROS.
Coked out
Strung out
Flipped out
Had my share of friends
Blow their brains out
But still I went back out
And hung out with the Gallo brothers
And the drunks and the druggies and the homeless and the insane
Downtown at two in the morning.
Little did I know,
The Gallo Brothers were leading me to the gallows
Dead woman walking
Hanging out with them,
I was killing myself slowly
Too cowardly to flat out pull the trigger and get it done with,
I just squeezed it a bit
With two, three, four visits a day
From the dynamic dastardly duo.
Sometimes we hung out at Sutter Home
I remember the plastic thunk of bottles
In my purse on the way there.
The glass-laden Gallo Brothers sometimes made a bit too much noise
When stealth was called for,
So no one else would catch on to what I was doing.
So no one would catch onto the feelings I tried burying,
The demons I tried to drown,
Who were squeezing the life out of me
Feeling horrible, unworthy
Always going back on my misery.
Tremors, delirious
Delirium tremens
So shaking I can’t even double-fist
A single can of soda
I reached for the only help I’ll accept
I grabbed on tight to their hands
Even though my body turned it down
Rejecting, ejecting
Spewing, spitting their help
Back in their faces
“I wish I knew how to quit you”
My body told them
But the Brothers were a violent lot
Beating me into submission
When my mind was under their influence
Sometimes I’d do the craziest ****
For friends who didn’t know better,
Didn’t have my best interests at heart
Were -bent on my personal destruction.
Talk about peer pressure!
Doing, saying things I normally wouldn’t!
They made me go against the grain of everything decent and good about me.
Some friends just aren’t worth having
I learned that lesson the hard way
Cutting ties with the Gallo Brothers...
The hardest thing I ever did!
But... the only way to keep Dead Woman Walking
From becoming Dead Woman Hanging around
at the morgue instead of the Gallo Brothers’ house.
Aug 15, 2011
Aug 15, 2011 at 12:32 PM UTC
Nails the length of javelins click on countertop
with the speed of a coked-up woodpecker
as this goddess of the night with bullets
of caked foundation sweating from her forehead
awaits her fifth free Long Island of the night.
Safe to say, she's a little high maintenance,
like all treasured centerpieces
of a local museum deserve to be.
She is your generation's Mona Lisa, trust.
Her sneezes will be dissected for coding.
Like the rust on buried Babylonian armor,
she lives sandwiched between myth and reality.
A Frankenstein of queer iconography,
door-knocker earrings designed by Adrian.
Stilts for heels clack on blinking dancefloor,
balancing a hermaphroditic echo
that charges through hieroglyphic binaries
with a four-on-the-floor precision.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
Amazing how the bubbles make
Each.
Word.
Stop.
Easier to ride each wave to completion
Than resist and escape as the wave departs
Lethargic
Nervous
Coked up and tripping over words
Until the muddy field, the proving ground
Marks the beginning of reality
Merge preconception, misconception, and perception,
Into one bright shining lie
Young dry brittle contradictions,
deep like gravity wells.
Losing sleep while pursuing the hand held sun.
The out.
The goal.
Reality knocks twice.
Once to break the tape.
Once to cross the line.
Aug 19, 2010
Aug 19, 2010 at 12:20 PM UTC
Through peach coloured faded blinds, you watch him type on ashen keyboards
Low music playing, he used to cut her hair, she was breathing
Words from a soul, or words from dictionaries faded as the blinds and walls and clothes on his back
A team of typists, all in a line (factory work and the repetitiveness of city living)
You notice the desk, cheap and flat-pack, worn markings exposition of veneer and wood
Did you spot the reference, or did it pass your eyes,
- are you a fan?
His derivative verse of Bukowski and the like is painful to eyes and corroding of the soul
Have you seen the bees flee?
Watch as the lights turn dead, and the oven burns red
I'm not sure if one could call it homely; his home
The way darkness arrives early each night above that house alone
and the way rabid foxes walk in large circles to avoid the shadow cast
You hear him cry at night
(and I feel ashamed at noticing you)
He sets himself alight, to feel something new
You watch from your couch and flip the channel
Are the old haunts getting older still,
by the night's final adieu, a wild dog scampers home
To lay beneath the old car with grass in the engine
and we both know the house is burning
The flashing lights in the street and the coked up vagrants dance rhythmically
Smoke contortions over the grassy morning dew
A girl with a vacant stare, from a bench afar, watches and flicks broken nails
Everything you are is nothing you want, still watching from the window
Pacing. Pacing.
(I am on the rooftop, and I saw it all.)
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
You never did **** like that for me
chillin in my lap, with a lighter and a sack
tickets to shows and suckin' it clean
Funny little nicknames, bed games,
thinking about head thangs.
Trips to Chico, down south, or left and right
two lines in the morning and two tabs at night
decided to be a bad ***** now, come freestyle
and I'll put you in your place
run laps around you the whole ******* race
leave you in the dust without a ******* trace
Step back, breathe
dry heave, dry heave
Switching lanes like a drunk man
swerving on the highway, I'm ******* my teeth
coked up going 90, 0 in my sheets.
Blown out bass busting out **** beats
Thought those 2 years made you a hard ***** *****
You're a lie ***** ***** you don't even try ***** *****
I'm glad I got to know ya but now I'll kick your *** to the curb like a ******* state patrola!
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
The city spikes that peer out over
rock-spires in the distance taste like
coffee grounds and finger paint.
They're bitter, but they matter.
Maybe someone north of Washington will
read our S.O.S. and send an airplane full of
urban-types to gentrify our graves.
And maybe Jesus saves.
Or maybe Jesus raves with coked-up
Gandhi up in Jersey, when the
winter turns to mush.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 2:19 PM UTC
Ill **** the ink right off the hemp of the constitution
Just to spit dark remarks like coked up John Belushi
at officials ass-hats enduring constant mood swings
as the hormone pendulum
signifies a revolution
war drone generals,
pimps for hire, lefty tool kits.
hefty duties levied on the public, getting flooded
yes I shot the tariff, but I never quit consumption
off fake happiness
so apathy's getting toothy
Lucidly
give historic figures
clues through dream.
Now thats nifty networking who do you know?
A yeti befriended a spaghetti monster
and got together to spin a blue globe.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
min far har altid sagt at jeg skulle tage det sure med det søde
at jeg skulle nyde livet, og de morgner som er røde
dog så jeg kun natten sort, jeg så det hele galt
mit spørgsmål er, hvordan jeg kunne ende så fortabt og fatalt
ikke et barn, endnu ikk’ en voksen, døde øjne og coked op på lykkepiller
hvor længe lever jeg endnu
og fortæl mig, hvornår er det tågen forsvinder?
jeg prøver at ånde ud fra den røgsky jeg mig befinder
men det er bare som om jeg mangler en stifinder
kærlighed, siger de
kærlighed, håber vi
men idag er det penge og analsex
og selv de fattigste i DK har råd til et kompleks
vi er bundet på hænder og fødder
skatter og politi,
for de første ord vi snakker i dk er
egoisme og “pansersvin”
selvorienteret, disorienteret
vi er alle født så uendeligt privligeret
opvokset med en guldske i røven,
vi spiller alle så fandens civiliseret
-Cathrine Berendt
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 3:42 AM UTC
they say write, say write, write
all i hear is 70's french music and static.
all i think of is you,
last night i took shots until i couldn't hold a steady glass,
remember thinking this is it, this has got to be it.
this is how you forget.
contemplating calling you- dreaming that i did
on, on and on
my english teacher said to write for poignancy,
i wrote on a coked out father,
sometimes i dream i see him at a grocery store, a church
he's all screams, i'm all "you have the wrong person, sir."
i've forgotten how to write,
maybe i'll call you in a year or so, maybe i'll forget
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 9:20 PM UTC
What business do you have getting jealous over me. You already have a wife, you ******* fiend. You ask too many questions. So I mention my non-boyfriend and the crazy in your eye catches me off-guard. If nothing else, maybe I've deterred you. And still there's questions. I never anticipated your coked out reaction. I don't need to be the victim of past life regression every time I enter the kitchen. I never gave into the chemistry cuz I could feel this poison coming from eons away. I never let myself joke with you unless I cracked. I never let myself care for you, and that's a fact. I always avoided eye contact at all costs, I pretend not to hear you when you scoff, cuz its not my fault. I tell myself it's not my problem when I ignore your attempts at connection and you look lost. My rejection is all you should have expected. You're ******* married. Even if you weren't, we have bad juju. It was never gonna happen. You are your wife's headache this life. So leave me out of it. How glad I am that I get to walk away and there's no us, and no children for you to hang over my head anymore just because I want out. You couldn't dare touch who doesn't exist. There's no cowards way to keep me oppressed. How relieved I am you cannot touch me. We are in public, I will never cower to you ever again. Your not my keeper, your just my boss. Get past the past lives. Get over yourself. If you do not, I'll just **** you again.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 6:13 AM UTC
I brought you my still beating heart
In a bismol pink bedpan,
Your hands lifting from the gurney
Awaiting salvation through my touch.
In my visions I am seventeen.
I am seeing you for the first time at my work
And you make me laugh.
You reiterate the scarring in your soul and down your back
And I ask, rudely, if I may see some time.
You say sure,
But your face wishes that I had never asked.
In my wonders
I am eighteen and telling a group of people my age at a party
Why I am sober,
Because my body is weak
And I am not tempted.
Thoughts of you and my future swirl in my mind
But they do not connect.
I will try in vain for another year
Before I realize that maybe I need to sober up from you.
In my recent memory,
I'm sitting on the side of your bed
Hoping that you do not die.
But I'm half naked,
Underwear and undershirt the only things I have on
And your skin is too hot
And your voice sounds coked over
And your breathing is not a slow hum
But a ravenous wheeze
And I'm scared
And my breathing becomes torn.
I'm nineteen again
But now I am saying goodbye
Though you are still living
And a week earlier I had pledged myself to you forever.
You cry to me that you were saving for a ring
And I had hoped to hear that
But now that you've said it,
I can feel my stomach toss
Into the bedpan
Which houses my heart
In your hands,
I've taken my place among the dreadfully unbalanced
And the perpetually sad.
I have come to the conclusion that I have made a mistake
That is too late in the making to be remedied.
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
hey big daddy dude
i sure like
your baby blue eyes and
i sure like your lean style
i wrote this
little drug poem somehow
hey broham
can you do
a little something for me
right now
just bring me a phat bottle of
that cold pimp-juice and
some of that
smooth dom perignon
oh yeah
something is going down
at the Paris Hilton Hotel Plaza
can you dig it big daddy
my crazy cat brother
where life is so grand
man i am just sitting
up on top of world
riding up on six white horses
as i drive in my pink-virgin cadillac
so welcome to my world
inside the big white house
full of diamonds and pearls
the whole enchilada girl
yes white coke in every room
this ain't some coke in a can
yes we are having a big fundraiser
yeah its party time up in the cut
fifty thousand dollars dreams but
brother man
set it out on the red carpet floor
turn on the groovy and the juicey
psychedelic lights somehow
roll out the big bowl of chili now
the big bowl of white coke and
you are still a bad girl now
have some white coke and a smile
taste some white coke with your fingertips
then snort some white coke up our nose
add some heron with some blow and
through your veins is where it goes
your eyes open then close and
you come riding up on six white horses
look man this is so groovy
like a ten cent movie and
no more **** pain
when we get coked up again
roll out the Benjamins
to climb up that phat hill
Jack and Jill
can you do
something for me
let the white lady in
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 2:10 AM UTC
Shes the sky and the ultimate waves
Persued and fried, you and I can't sleep
The seven animals outside won't be still
There's glass in this drink
And its all covered in pride
But if i would drink it
Colossus and the party
Will dance until the knights sit down
Coked out faces shining in the cupboards
Worn throughout the ages by preachers and worms
But the lakes will back up
And the trees will grow to the sky
The rivers will run pure and clean
And men will be there too
All we can do is think back
Justice will be a mighty song
Ringing through the telephones
Too all those ducks and salmon platters
That wait in the upstairs lavatory
Someday I'll spin you a tale
Of ships
And of sailors
And sunken treasure
But thats not today
The cobra den hisses and moans to the radio man
He won't hear a thing until he's spaced
"Send him to the gallows" shouted the crows,
"Rip his skin with the axe" yelled the bag boys
"And crush his thoughts with the rocks" screeched the roads
But alas his tale is mixed in bowls of negativity
And his body is now in the shoes you wear
So now i'll say these words
And frown upon your face
Because we're all gone now
And tomorrow we'll be back
But we'll never be the same.
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 4:57 PM UTC
I’m twenty years old, I wanna get caked up
You’re twenty years old, but all you want is to get coked up,
Live it how you want it, I won’t judge
And you’re a happy girl
As long as you’re fed, admired, and taken to interesting places
But anyone could do that for you,
I want to know why you’re with me.
It’s a pretty chilled afternoon, cloudless skies
And the sea is so blue
As blue as lapis lazuli,
You’re on the hammock reading War and Peace
I’m learning how to clean a shotgun
My father’s working on the Peugeot
There’s wet air coming in from the sea,
He’s hoping the salt hasn't started rusting the chrome
You’re hoping you’ll finish that book in one lifetime
I’m hoping you can stay here a few more days.
This
This is our life right now
We could all be roped up, tied up, and dead tomorrow
But this
This is our life right now.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
Ran around all night
Unsure why I was in
But not about to turn it down
There she was again
With those black pants
If you can call them that
Crisis after crisis
Where's the birthday girl?
Search five different spots
Drugs sold, embellished
Never seen that life first hand
But now I can hold my own
Guy will get himself locked up
I think he wants to
Where's the birthday girl's friend?
Getting coked
Won't join
Dealer's best friend
I listened to her actions
They were loud
She saw situations as they were
Friends came first
Even if it was nonsense
They needed her for
Her red lips, I watched
Her soft hips, I touched
Mile a minute
But not overworked
Smiles all night
Living the life
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 12:44 PM UTC
you want me to be happy
adventure because, why not?
be a free spirit
be a free spirit and
forget about the chaos inside me
because, after all,
I am so, so happy
to be near you
aren't I?
to be for you
aren't I?
your mystery
I dance around
the kitchen table
and put flowers in my hair
every color of
the prettiest rainbow
here I am
God, I'm so pretty
I'm so smart too
but not too smart
I'm just smart enough
to make you feel
smart too
God, I really am just
one of a kind
your kind
the only kind
that matters to be
truly
tell me,
am I just everything
you've ever
wanted?
I'm just so, so entrancing
that's really why I'm here
to be yours
your ******* pixie dream
your ******* sunshine
coked out
queen
I'm just your ******* doll
I'm so ******* pretty
I'm so ******* different
I'm just so *******
stupid
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 1:31 AM UTC
I feel like my mind is coked out and im a zombie, wandering aimlessly through this abyss we call life. Brain dead, scarred to do anything about it. There are days I feel like I could lift skyscrapers, and then there are theses days where im alone, inside dead and struggling to do anything with my life. In my head its going 300 miles an hour, but I move so slow and pathetic on the outside. The very thing that keepa me alive is whats killing me. How ironic? I had dreams and goals. High school cheerleaders I still needed to **** **** random girls at lalapaoza. Do something epic with my friends ill never forget no matter what I put in my body... but responsibility and regret took my selfish goals and dreams out the Window. Dont pitty me, because I dont. I know I ****** myself over plenty of times due to me being a lazy son of a ***** I still have these illusions of possibilities, of a better life. None that has me in the bathroom of my buddies house snorting death off the back of his toilet seat. Or taking my happy meds right before some ****** looks at my girl and I beat his face in with a socket wrench. I had have to leave and jump from town to town to hide from me mind. I dont have multiple personalities... I have regretsyndrom, its ******* over the girl of your dreams with her cousin and hoping she doesn't find out. Arrogant son of a ***** he is. Cant keep a ******* girl even if it were to save his pathetic life. He really is a ***** on the inside. The little ****** cries at the end of my girl and Charlie st cloud... but hes "hard" nothing but a wanna be... blames it on his regret for a girl... shut up dude he loved her. If he loved her we wouldnt have tryed to be with her cousin because we got bored. Whose we? You didnt say **** because you were too worried she would find out. Well she did, didnt she? Oh like you are always right... just like you thought it was a good idea to **** your step sister...? Huh? ******* Iys 9 oclock larry you need to to take your meds again... what? Answer the telephone. Larry your meds...! Answer the telephone steveie! Leave me alone. There's no Larry or Stevie here... no ringing... and I cant take medicine... go away... hello?
Well im alone again... uh great =/ come back guys...?
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 4:45 AM UTC
When I met you in the pub that night,
The movement and the way you sauntered over,
It was so clearly pre-defined.
The way that you held your hand out,
The over the top air kiss,
Too effortlessly refined.
Later into the night the drugs imbibed,
Drinks convivially consumed,
The space between us lost.
Time disappears down,
Some rabbit hole,
At some unsaid noir mutual cost.
The pint shoved with jovial force,
From the slick wet bar,
Into my waiting hand.
The coked-up person,
Backing me into a corner,
Reassuring me that they totally understand.
And whilst my malnourished ribs,
Are digging uncomfortably,
Into your hard ***** floor.
There are things that I would,
Say to you,
If bravery mistook me for more.
You consume me with,
Your entire world,
Whilst mine just ebbs away.
My voice gets quiet,
And agreeable,
I forget that I had anything worthwhile to say.
This world takes the very guts of me,
With every wrap of drugs that I see.
And that girl slipping away in the mirror,
Is becoming so very different from me.
With every drink fuelled choice,
Each line of drugs,
Each night that I see reappear as day.
The feeling submerges,
From the depth of me,
That this life is not ok.
Whilst I can try and lay the blame,
Of my gradual downfall,
At the feet of some charismatic few.
It’s some personal emancipation,
That will allow me to start my again life,
With a sanguine view.
As I disappear down the rabbit hole,
For what I tell myself,
Is one last epic fall.
I hope that the person,
Who appears on the other side,
Is strong enough to walk away and leave it all.
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 9:19 AM UTC
i was an ***** player for a talk show in the southside
one night while tanking up preshow at a poolhall down the block
i snooped a conversation about a stripper birthday party
currently in progress at mcardles pub
mcardles being a bar on an alley in the southside
i made haste for the stripper party
though i didn’t know which alley to head for
alas, mcardles pub stayed aloof
i was toasted and the southside got bigger
with talkshow time only an hour away
then 45 minutes, then half an hour
and i couldn’t find mcardles
many alleys, all blind, no mcardles
no strippers, no off-duty pulchritude
finally, in despair, i surrendered
went to the lava lounge, plugged in my *****
painted my face and put on an indian headdress
i sang "piece of my heart"
sharing my misery with the audience
(yes we had an audience, a good one)
when i was done our mc alexie said
"he looks like one of the village people
but he sang the **** out of that song
let’s hear it for unfinished symphonies"
yeah let’s hear it for me
taking pieces of my ***** heart
and throwing them at the happy drunken
coked-up ladies at mcardles invisible pub
Oct 7, 2019
Oct 7, 2019 at 12:20 PM UTC