"compulsions" poems
there are women who love demons
you can see it in their eyes
like a sick hunger
silence in a straight jacket
smiling limbs on a pyre
staring entranced
whiskey blind
as if marveling
at a howling blood-spattered dingo in a crater
seduced to wander off half-naked into a bush of thorns
********* barbed hooks for heroine kisses
women on fire who believe in nothing
except their atavistic compulsions
they are a burning land
beauty in ruin
ready for the slender whip
and black-toothed kisses
who giggle and then plunge into an abyss
i hold her like a jaw holds teeth
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 3:08 PM UTC
My Obsessive Compulsive Disorder causes me severe anxiety.
It's hard. To have it my way. It's hard. I overthink it. The images of the little things replay in my mind.
I can't seem to hide.
Why do I have this fear? Just make it all disappear. It's not reasonable yet it feels so intense.
I feel tense. I am not satisfied with my presence. I feel uncomfortable.
Why am I not content with my surroundings.
My disorder involves both obsessions and compulsions that take up lot of time and get in the way of important activities that I value.
So many mistakes that I need to fix.
So hard to perfect everything.
The line I drew isn't straight, I have to start all over.
I need to wash my hands again. It's been 5 minutes since I haven't.
Don't bite the Kit Kat, break off each stick and eat it.
The clothes in my closet should be hung up and organized by color.
My picture frame isn't hung up in the middle of the wall.
My food should not be mixed with the side dishes or I refuse to eat.
My apps aren't on the right page of my phone.
Twitter should be under social and instagram should be under photography and if it's not, it's wrong, it's all wrong!
I need to wash my hands again it's been 10 minutes since I haven't.
The tv volume should only be an even number or a multiple of five.
Why is my seatbelt twisted?
My mind is twisted.
All these errors are persistent.
So hard to resist it.
I am not leaving my house until my phone is 100%, 97% and I can't stand it (will not do. )
Mother tells me it'll be alright after i take my pills...I agree to as long as the pills are sorted by color
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 7:11 PM UTC
Every action has its consequences
Bound to a fate of its own
We choose an action by choice
Informed or under compulsions
Wound in a complex circle
Once we knock the door with uncertainty
Fate is there watching over us
Given the task to execute the action
Awaiting the consequences as remuneration
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 6:41 AM UTC
i was born all naturally
formed in a lax factory
im actually
a hack with ******* in my nose, practically,
every day, haphazardly
stumbling home, half asleep
i cant tell whats happening
vision begins blackening
im whack like kriss kross
crack like rick ross
major brown boy to houston
be like, "yes, we have liftoff"
dont like me when i'm ****** off
cause ***** i'm bruce banner
or maybe i'm bruce wayne
either way, i got mad manners
tearing down walls like berlin
preaching like its a sermon
potential begins to burgeon
i'll cut you up like a surgeon
killing in place of coercion
so you better lower the curtain
my head and my body are hurtin
so tell me how quick does the world spin?
i'm taddling on ya, you can call me a toddler
but the snitchin n' **** is somethin im never fond of
and i never grow up, cause i'm the neverland smuggler
peter pan turns into one of my best customers
i never grew into my head, im not cocky
never had the eye of the tiger, im not rocky
growing up i never got in fights or caused a lotta ****
but presently im screaming **** the world", i've got a bone to pick
i've gotta problem and i think its the probable cause
you hold me captive, keep me trapped in your facets of laws
looks of repulsion are what cause me to brandish my claws
constant compulsions reminiscent of prodigal flaws
i've gotta problem and i think its the probable cause
see im a goblin shark i'll sink in my nautical jaws
im not a joker im a jester with lesser facades
wrought with insomnia cause drugs are american gods
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 1:39 AM UTC
I take a pill
Every night
Before bed
And it keeps away
The panic
The compulsions
The stress
The perfectionism
The drive
The desire for excellence
The 4.0 student
Everything that was
Killing me
And
Creating me
So, now I have to decide
Is it worth it?
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 12:21 PM UTC
I'm too despressed to notice I'm stressed out
Suppressed emotions inside, shouldn't let out
Seeing is believing but what I see isn't real
I am forced to accept these "realities" and ignore the way I feel
I don't mean to sadden, entertain, bore, or aggravate,
For a decade I find that this is how I communicate
The only way I can precisely speak out on the unhealthy pleasures
As the chemicals of my brain, they fornicate
These levels of relationships aren't supposed to be
It'll **** me sometime later, look at how it has ruined my personality
Seeing is believing, but you won't believe what I see
How can I act 'normal' when you won't acknowledge I can't do 'human being'
My animalistic compulsions are fuelled by my failing brain functions
Don't get too close cause I'll try to bite, I sympathise for your flesh when I malfuntion
Don't be scared, I'm not canibalistic, I just like to use my teeth
Humans scare me, I must defend myself, uh, I mean, to smile and eat
I'm not afraid to say it, but I'm scared when I'm saying it, I have to say
I have been observing your mundane human actions, I really don't want to be put away
I always feel foreign, alienated, out-of-place
But because I'm "considerate," I have to bite my tongue to save me some face
I'm too stressed out to notice that I'm depressed
Wanting mental soundessnes, yes, peace, my hallucinations don't give me rest
My taughts speed down their highway, my delusions are always a-fest
They inflict beneath my exterior, but for the public eye, I wear a crest
"I wear my skin well, don't you think?" I lie, becuase it ill-fits
I am totally normal, "I'm fine." Can't change the fact I'm a misfit.
The beams that bear my bag of meat rust and thus begin to weaken
The lethal sagging's caused by the mental luggage, I'm not heard, even though I'm speaking
Many persons think that I'm overly paranoid, I must admit, that I am
You would be the same way too, if about your health, no one ever gives a ****
Help doesn't come, because their 'laters' always becomes 'nevers'
I am not that superhuman, can't keep myself together, forever
They claim that they would help me, some way, somehow, but their actions never initiate
Someday, sometime, it would all be over, through a thorough death physical or mental
Oh yes, I'm still believing, you can't accuse me of not having faith.
I look forward to my healing, but all the while, my brain chemicals fornicate.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 7:18 PM UTC
Who am i?
When the scars are stripped away
the obsessions gone
the compulsions unneeded
When i don't know the taste of serotonin on my tongue
the disappointment of looking in the mirror
or the bite of metal against my stomach
When i am myself again,
bare of the illnesses that have weighed me down
Who will i be?
Oct 4, 2021
Oct 4, 2021 at 11:28 AM UTC
whats the point of those chemicals
the ones that make me flirty
and giggly
and easy
what's the point of the regret
that makes me groan the next day
and sleep for hours
and sad
i guess those chemicals make you pretty happy
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
i disembody you in poetry:
thin scabs film over your bones,
i pick them until i find new skin to lay my kisses on —
a new land to baptize
with my own heathen hands,
i disembody you with them:
chest spread open like that of a dressed foul.
my body is too corrupted but it knows of intense longing,
piercing live-coal eyes, it burns
my neck like a crucifix,
like flames on a burning metal —
it heals, almost cleanses like holy fire
and with new bones,
i disembody you in poetry:
an attempt to see you, hold you, love you whole
without it consuming me:
a sight of pink lips, pink tongue,
pink columbines on your wrist;
i take apart your entirety,
press it, piece by piece on my fragile nail bed — hidden away
somewhere the world loses its sight.
and maybe now after all the cycles, it is the world's turn
to fumble far and wide, to despair in search for your hands —
your eyes
that unsettle and leave the cosmos
collapsing majestically
in its own harshest daylight
leaving us all disembodied
in blinding, vivid, solar colors.
forgive my compulsions to love you like this.
Feb 6, 2022
Feb 6, 2022 at 12:15 AM UTC
I periodically Perpetuate
hurricanes all around me
manifesting my illusions
filled with anomalies
commonly I’m far from Common
as these evil forces
completely surround me
crashing down to rock-bottom
longing to no longer be lonesome
but my loneliness is caused
by my compulsions
such impulsive behavior
needs to get out of me, expulsion
creatively i creep
to seem casual and sane
To a world that’s corrupt
and crippled needing a cane
****** and staring
into the eyes of the truth
but with all this proof
we can’t find who is to blame
to some mentally
my mind it is unglued
broken into bits
from so much abuse
daily I’m terrified of torture
I feel like I’ve got nothing to lose
I’m black and blue
Just one giant bruise
Beaten and brought down to my knees
Reluctant to beg. I scream out please
No more
In my tears I’m drowning
A moment of silence as
You Playfully tease
But the kid with the magnifier
Doesn’t hear the ants screams
Only burns and burns
Until their is nothing left
But the shell of a man
Who’s life is a mess
Dec 29, 2020
Dec 29, 2020 at 2:08 PM UTC
*oh you
body of a woman
you've cried in the dark to long
with your enormous thrilling charm
you
under my skin
with your blood thirsty neurosis
like a queer moon
begging to be hollowed out
slow and cruel, you begged
calling me sir, like that
your mouth gleaming wet
your eyes piercing like flashing cleavers
you groan wild
like a hyena on fire
leaving all sense behind
saying yes to my darkest of whims
and weeping echoes
darker
darker and darker yet
twist me in circles
and circles in circles
my soul a rioting expectation
she eats the backward apple
God knew you would
the sadist
good destroys
evil heals
you eat apples of sin galore
your **** puffs
a fluttering gate drooling
madness, all Adamite
an iron jawed angel
tides of panic in the dark
kisses that ground you down
paralyzed by the black pit
true will of desire
atavistic compulsions torrential
pain that makes beauty stunning
pain that hums
like needles and tongues
sliding curves
milk and blood
doomed by carnal opportunity
under leaves of darkening green
depth charge
shifting flesh
towards a swift arrow
i am a sudden storm
like Caligula's kisses
and you are absolute sacrifice
draped drooling
in heavens arms
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 12:24 PM UTC
Ex's
I am a part of all of them
even the ones I hate.
Maybe especially the ones I hate.
They are transferred paint
after the fender ******
at the unfortunate intersection
of fate and bad timing.
Not enough damage to make a difference.
Not even enough impression that
you care to be bothered changing your schedule
to repair it.
But every time you leave the house,
and on every lap around the chariot,
you see a trespassing color screaming
of either their bad decision.........or yours.
Sometimes it seems there are more accidents
than pleasant Sunday drives.
I suppose most encounters must be accidents
until we find the uncluttered road to our destiny.
L.E. was life shift
and napkins.
I didn't even know I needed napkins
when I had paper towels in the house.
I Jones for napkins these days.
D.B. was college
and fashion.
Shiny shoes moved her to the soul of my feet.
Now Kiwi polish
smells like foreplay to me.
N.R. was forbidden
and my piano teacher.
I hated practice, she loved to kiss
The oral exam was one of my best finals.
I like tests more than most people today.
J.T. was a cougar
and Tchaikovsky connoisseur.
Maturity was uncovered, along with adult lessons
about carpet knap and fireplaces.
I am Pavlov's dog in the strings of Symphony #6.
L.J. was adventure
and abandon.
She is a grassy carpet over a live train tunnel
in a memory I should regret, but don't.
She is the crossbeam in my permanent smile.
I am an estrogen inspired creation
finding purpose in soft fleshy motivation.
I am who I am
because of their compunctions and compulsions.
They scraped off on me
in the kamikaze journey to fight loneliness.
But in the dive I learned -
grace is humbling when you don't deserve it,
toilet paper has a perfect delivery direction,
I get the right side of the bed,
you shouldn't say anything
you don't want to hear again,
it's my job to take out the trash,
shutting your mouth sooner than you think
is almost always the better choice,
you can never have enough closet space,
and some experiences are so good
that you should never try to repeat them again.
She may be gone forever.
And we may not be able to have
a decent conversation for the rest of our lives.
But God knows
I'll always have napkins.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 1:55 PM UTC
You my Eraser
My words entering a vaume of contempt and your pompous praise
My glass is raised to you
As my head bows in subjugation
To you my muzzle
To you my totalitarian regime
To you my censor;
Never directly scolding
Never directly
Only molding fear
and unrest
with well postulated questions
Sculpting hesitations
Eradicating my compulsions,
erasing my freedom,
of
expression
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 3:32 PM UTC
i was at work this evening
sweeping back and forth
back and forth
and back and forth
...12 times
mind plagued with compulsions,
ocd, anxieties
i hear the whispers
muttered by those who think
that u were the one
who did this to me
wow, u really drove me mad,
drove me crazy!
but back to the scene at hand
i hear the opening notes
of that band
i know and that song
that became so comfortable and
oh so familiar
...zz top, sharp dressed man
i’m taken into a trance
this image of you smiling on this couch
oh so deceiving,
yet so inviting
i give in and sneak a glance
of you
playing your own one man air band
drums and guitar
with you’re long hair flying everywhere
like a crown around your head
...before those toxins turned your hair
as thin and frail as you
there’s a tug at my heart
and it hurts a little
what’s this feeling?
i haven’t felt this towards you in a while
but it comes by sometimes
hand in hand with that deceiving smile
for a fleeting moment
...i miss u?
before i remember
what lay behind
that venomous grin
then i’m angry
for once not at you
but at myself
i hate you!
i hate you
i’m supposed to hate you
right?
i didn’t know what to feel
before i felt that familiar sensation
a heavy weight in my chest as
my heart rate speeds up
and i have to pull myself back
into reality
quick! before i lose control
thoughts spiraling around me
focus on something else
anything else!
anxieties, ocd, compulsions
maybe it’ll ease the weight on my chest
i grip the broom in my small, sweating, trembling hands
and begin to sweep
back and forth
back and forth
and back and forth
...24 times this time
1/22/2019
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 2:38 PM UTC
I'm not going to write about you in my journal
Because unfortunately I feel that that form of confession tends to backfire dramatically and leave me jinxed.
It's like those ink-stained secrets wrapped up in leather counteract the decadent visions I drift to sleep with at night
And so,
No
I'm not going to write about you in my journal
You see, I care about the concept of you far too deeply to chance our lingering moments on teenage whimsical compulsions to gush in secrecy
About the way your words shifted my anchored soul,
About the flooding in my heart when you bared yours,
About the mass amounts of internal riots
(The butterflies doth protest)
Of your pragmatic, flirtatious adequacy
Nay, mastery.
No
I'm not going to write about you in my journal
For fear of risking those moments of substance:
Secret-swapping
Joke-exchanging
Soul-bearing times where I wanted nothing more than to jump eight hours ahead so that I could see the undigitized blue of your eyes and feel the ends of my nerves explode off my skin like the Fourth of July.
How is it
That physical proximity has nothing to do with the closeness we seem to share?
I feel
Compelled
by some unexplainable piece of mind to insist and hope and wish that
Like you once told me under volumes of conversation,
We are connected.
I don't want to waste any of this enigmatic familiarity and sudden interdependency
On matters of my own private indulgence
And for this,
I'm not going to write about you in my journal
For you say that you are Atheist
But I know that you meant it when you told me
Your soul knows mine.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC
Got your wire asking me to meet;
The wire that travelled rounds to reach me
Weeks or even months to reach me
After all that while you waited me going
From where I have now traversed abound
Years didn't know what months held within
Months didn't listen to day's throbbing
But we boarded the same space and time
It wasn't crowded with any ‘other ones’
Why didn't you meet me then, me around?
Why didn't you meet me there, me waiting?
Silly or serious, the moments we digressed
You turned your back and switched me off
Making up, I sat by the side, hands feeling
I knew you were pretending asleep;
Then slowly gone to an indifferent self
Why didn't you meet me there, by your side?
Remember all those questions I asked?
Of compulsions and convictions of yore
When you wore an eerie silence as answer
Looking away saying I don't want to respond
I had waited for you there, for long
Why didn't you meet me there with the answers?
Remember all those things you have hidden
Things that changed my takes on life
On trust, respect, love and sorts
You slept over them and woke up afresh
I stood there unslept; carrying scars ever after
Why didn't you sight me so, there?
We were walking along and away,
Not knowing the long pauses we took
Two souls trapped in the same maze
Crossing and nodding days after days
But more as strangers; on a courtesy call
I wish you stopped and met me there.
Now that I have been on this travail for long
With miles to go for that unknown destiny
And a lost way back in labyrinths of mind
Meetings won't be of hearts anymore;
Would set us only on old routes we loathe
So wait no more on your wire...
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 10:58 AM UTC
The truth about my recovery?
I lied
I told the truth
I was better.
So much better
a different person
truly, really,
not the me that was dying to die a year previous.
for six years the monsters consumed me
It starts so subtle.
She’s skinnier.
‘No I’m on a diet’
‘I’m a size 0’
your best friend skips lunches.
slowly, surely, the monster slips into your head.
your nightmares are living
compulsions start.
too young.
don’t eat in front of people.
one granola bar will get you through practice until home.
and all the comments egging you on.
‘you aren’t skinny enough for that..’
‘but if you eat salad all summer’
Soon you can’t look at yourself.
Soon the Monster of self hatred turns you to more
because the diets aren’t enough
so spring break after a bowl of corn chips
you close the bathroom door
and the porcelain becomes your ally.
friends may know.
but you can be sneaky.
after all, how else would you manage your size?
Eventually it isn’t enough, you want quicker results.
And the monsters of self hatred are eating you up.
you’ve grown now of course.
pushed away friends who knew who wanted you to get help.
Because this Monster, This darkness in your mind,
your only friend.
No more food.
leave crumbs and a buttered kife.
anything eaten, behind the bathroom door.
And very soon
The blades come out to play.
So intriguing how easy it is.
and how simple to hide.
What an easy release.
17 and 110 lbs, covered in scars on her hips.
I did get help.
I went to therapy.
I loved it.
I didn’t just change these acts
I changed myself.
But I wasn’t better, I was anxious
to be done with it
to be set free.
So I stopped going.
when I wasn't totally ready.
I thought I was happy..
But is that why I relapsed?
It was only once.
But is that why I still find myself depressed?
Sometimes suicidal?
Is it my fault?
It’s usually my fault so I can see how it would be.
I lied.
That’s the truth.
And
*I
Don’t
Know.*
But I do know
this recovery is a continuous fight.
And I just wonder
Where am I now?
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
The ace of hearts
sat down at the table
feeling oh so confident
stares at the three of spades
in his pocket
While the king of diamonds
eyes his diamond queen
in his mind
the ten
hides behind the jack
The queens figured
tonight was the night
they were going to get laid
The deuces were quietly weeping
wondering if another deuce
on the table was going to be played
The ace of hearts
his heart was racing
as the ace of spades
made its way
followed by the ace of diamonds
and a diamond three
a rare drop
was all he could say.
The king of diamonds
to his court he smiled
as the deuce of diamonds
sparkled on the table
The queens, they trembled
wondered if the only thing getting laid
was their heads on the chopping block
this day
The third deuce had joined the pair
his heart was lifted
but still in despair
the deuces looked down the river forlornly
Many have lost it all for more
The ace of hearts was feeling cocky
a warm fullness washed over him
he looked out at his life
figured all he could do was win
he believed in love
sometimes you gotta go
all in
he smiled as he waited at the dock of the river
The king still flushed with diamonds galore
their sparkles blinded him
he joined the ace in the fog
it was either this or that
there were no more games to play
Now faced with two endings
which path to take
The queens had
had enough
on the table they folded
into a fatal swoon
Three deuces
he wavered
his hands were trembling
the game ain't over until
the rent money is gone
Gamblers
some are optimists
some are realists
some are looking for salvation
some are going to play
until they have no more left to pay
looking for death, so they say
driven by compulsions rage
all ask the question
is
this a streak or a slump?
Which was the deuces on this day?
The optimist joins the fray
The realist he folds goes on home to play another day,
All pray.
On your playing field
so far away
what is the play?
Which are you today?
As many endings
as there are
combinations of cards
sometimes it even rains frogs
The room was quiet
the aces full
the king flushing
three deuces - waiting
what to do?
I guess I am the optimist today
the sun is shining after five days of rain
A distant sight
down the river came
as the two of clubs
was beating the water's edge
running and laughing
all the way.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 11:49 AM UTC
Immortal, Immortal, my very own Immortal, can you still even hear me? I wanted to mention another, but instead I am calling out your name.
Immortal. That is how I always called you, little darling; you really are like a little darling, with your bulbous brown eyes and solid red mouth. With your sweet-flavoured jokes and archaic compulsions. You are like a buoyant flower that often speaks from its inside. You smell just like the black sweater you are always encircled in; you smell like one array of strawberries, lavenders, and musk blended into one wondrous potion. Ha-ha. You are wild; you are free; you are the inborn sweat of stormy nature itself. But to me you are the one chosen. You are like a youth that never blossoms; a sky that knows not the litter of adulthood. You are my sweet, my elegance, my butterfly.
But you always failed to catch a butterfly. Once there was one who briefly landed on your shoulder; in an attempt to hurl his little self back into the solidarity of the skies. You sang about the whole world like the moon did; but you were never incarcerated within your universe. Instead, you created even a more passionate one.
Immortal, Immortal, where are but you, my love? I peruse His verses and cite His name every day; in order that you feel my affection and touch even just the slighted shadow of mine, in your dreams. Bygone memories are still rowing within my head; and as their sheen touches my lips; I am sure I shall see you again, when He decrees. Ah, Immortal, how I want to see you become pure; and unite yourself with Him within his fortress, my love flowing beside you, freeing you from this world's ungodly torture.
Obicham te. I miss you, my dear, more than hysteria can assume; nor any disparity can have thought of. My morning dew, my noon, my sunset, all are but attended in thee.
Obicham te. Obicham te. Obicham te.
I miss you so much. Sadly, perhaps you'll never know that.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 8:21 AM UTC
Running in epileptic circles
my dreams that can't even escape
these malemetal mindtraps
securely locking up the bodies of the
evildoers happening to catch my soul
between the stainlesssteel and whitewash
and scratchy blankets on my cheek
my eyes sticking, body convulsing
and the Watchers! I can't take it
I feel my sanity quickly fleeing the beady
unblinking soulless inhumanity
black warts on the ceiling
I frantically count relying on obsessive compulsions
to sleep. I sleep out of the sour sweat of fear
but sleep only leads me to
running in epileptic circles
It was all taken
bare. that's how I was
naked labrat surrounded by
murderers
leaking sanity nastily
from artificial orifices
All the world part of perpetual seizures
running in epileptic circles
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
Freedom from addiction
Means keeping pills in relapsing distance
I just need the presence, the friction
The suffering of temptation
Released
A downward spiral
or something cliché enough to drag me to the bottom
I let go of everything once
Trying to force a flow of liberation
Misguided euphoric tide
At least for the half-life
Then the comedown
Through the noise
This kid is making a comeback
Infantilizing the sacred ground
Back to primal setting
Bursts of energy via the star nursery
These compulsions
Lead to impulsions
When the nervous system's wracked
I'll be here wrapping my head around
Trying to control the chaos
Organized crime in the mind of the attention deficit
Demanding change in this temple trashed by the afterparty.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 3:12 PM UTC
I must avoid this
Body shaking
Palms sweating
Heart racing
Pain ensuing
All over.
My head
My stomach
My lower back
Everything burns.
Everything stings.
I want to scream.
I want to cut.
I want to die.
All because I lost a homework assignment.
Or I'm running late.
Or I had an argument with my parents.
Petty things, enormous reaction.
I have learned to quiet those tendencies
Because I can feel them coming on.
I feel the compulsions raging inside of me
Like someone has detonated a bomb.
Breathe.
Slow your mind by
Repeating a phrase
Over and over
Round and round
It turns.
I am okay
I am okay
I am okay.
I must continue to remember
That these things do not determine
My future, my life, my existence
Me.
These are the things that one must constantly think
While in the midst of a panic attack.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
Poem a day, number 22
How much of my choices are my own?
Physiological compulsions
Societal pressures.
How much of my choices are my own
I muse, as I grab another sugary treat.
My own personal addiction.
It's not respected as an addiction
People smirk,
Or quip 'Oh yeah I have a sweet tooth too'
'No, no' I say
'It's medically proven
To have the same reaction in the brain as cocaine'
I can see them thinking
'Yeah right' as they smile and say
'Oh really?'
But the pressure to partake
'Just this once won't hurt'
Really? Do you say that to alcoholics too?
Are people quitting smoking
Expected to smoke for a day or two,
Because it's Christmas, Easter, Birthdays...
How much of my choices are my own?
When you can't actually live without
Some sort of sugar.
In a society where anything with a hint of processing
Is likely to have some refined sugar
And the more convenience the higher the risk.
How much is my choice?
When managing my addiction is more about
Keeping sugar to a bearable level.
An addiction that can't be cut out completely
As my hand starts to shake at the mere thought of
Having to 'quit' again.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 4:56 AM UTC