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Brad post Oct 2018
Staring at the ceiling,
what the **** is this feeling?
I can’t make up my mind,
of what’s real and what’s fake.

If I’m not dreaming,
then who is that screaming?
No one seems to hear it,
so that’s a mistake.

In front of the mirror,
and all I see is me,
but the me that I see,
is not who he seems to be.

Something’s not right,
in the little details,
in the colors and smells,
this is not re-al-i-ty.

I can see movement,
in the corner of my eyes,
something alive,
that’s not there when I look.

It’s like I’m in between worlds,
where time doesn’t exist,
the soundless abyss,
being dragged down by a hook.

This detox is different,
something is wrong,
I knew all along,
but that brings no relief.

This panic, is manic,
now I’m feeling frantic,
how can a person,
forget to breathe?

It’s feels like the weight,
on my shoulders has lifted,
but it’s only shifted,
and been placed on my chest.

My mind has grown muddy,
and I got nothing left,
fighting and struggling,
for every breath.

Clutching at myself,
as the tremors start.
Is it my heart?
Bring in the crash cart.

I hear someone say,
“place this under your tongue,
let it dissolve and don’t chew”,
but my tongue has gone numb.

I watch the walls bend,
and then I start to scream.
I’d like to believe it’s a dream,
but I’m not that dumb.

I can hear ambulance sirens,
so distant, and close,
but I’ve gone morose,
all I feel is the pain.

Houston, are you there?
All connections are down,
I can’t hear a sound,
I think I’ve gone insane.
elle Jan 5
it seeps
under my fingernails into skin
doused in clean! the filth is killed!
then I spit at it.


caress my brow in a palm, any warm pocket of flesh
a grandmother’s *****
the spine of a leaf
my dog’s velvet-soft triangle-shaped ear
anything that will let my grief get some rest

sorrow is heavy trash bag to haul

find me a bellhop or a sidewalk construction man
something with biceps and a hardened face. someone who can clean **** up.

these shards could maim a bystander
         why force one to bleed such an unnecessary truth
wouldn't want to wreck these shiny floors

better to keep it hid, better tighten my lips around it
I mean,
how do -you- feel under these fluorescent lights?
who is studying who?

I understand now my circus of an existence was born
in a tight space
between the exhausted description of my histories
-the official ones- and

these secrets,
the juicy stuff
encrypted in me
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
Tranquil orchestra
The sweetest ******* soul drinks
My flame flickers pure
Said it before, I'll say it again - Yanni's music is heavenly, and spiritually it's detoxing me from the garbage of the mainstream. (not all is garbage but majority of it is)
Working on the Meringue poem, still! ^-^
Lyn ***
atomic blue Jul 2017
it's loneliness and misery
self-imposed solitude
in detox from gaiety
living my darkest mood
unleashing my angry self
in honesty all ****
subsisting in depression
hitting the hopeless bottom
being forgotten
by any I've known
being unforgiven
by any I've wronged

to draw her wondrous eyes
from the only face I see
letting myself rise
floating in our ecstasy
and to let the drawing burn
just to do it over again
if she asks me how much
if she asks me my plan

it's loneliness and misery
self-imposed solitude

James Floss Aug 2018
I have a low variable rate. I
Know enough through the cuff
When it is too high
And then when lower—
It’s variable

So, detox on the decaf
Binge Flix clips on elliptical
Keep to no salt diet result
Take the lesser stressors
Before anything else begins
Tommy Randell Dec 2016
The bed is too short for a lie-in
The wife's dog owns the settee
There's a sun lounger out in the garage
But it's winter and 7 degrees

I can hear at least 4 kinds of music
A muted electric guitar
There's a scream like a broken Jet engine
That's the wife reversing the car

My son and his mates had a late night
I can smell beer and left-over curry
The kitchen will look like a bomb-site
Which won't get cleaned up in a hurry

The heating has just gone into turbo
Yes, there's someone else in the shower
Any minute now the alarm will go off  … 'cos
I've been awake nearly two hours

It is the usual Saturday
Believe me I've been here before
It can make me tired and grumpy
And that's not what Saturdays are for ...

Two hours later and I'm startled!
Oh, I must have dropped off
There's an ominous silence around me
Like the whole spinning world has just stopped

I know they have gone out to be busy
The last thing they want is to rest
Gone shopping, breakfast or lunching
Leaving the old man to rot and the kitchen a mess

Me and the wife's dog we'll go walkies
Skim a few stones on the sea
He'll meet a few dog pals and eat a dead fish
And sit quietly down by my feet

On the way home we might call for a pint
Meet up with the lads and de-stress
I might even text with my love to the wife
Hoping her day is filled with success

Your favourite dinner I'll tell her
Tinned Pie, French fries and beans
And she will reply with a little red heart
And you know what that normally means

Plenty of time though to clean up the Kitchen
Detox the hallway, and sit on the Loo
And time left over for some sport on the telly
And a bottle of Cider or … Three!

It is my usual Dad-Friendly Saturday
With it's uptake on free-time and space
And tomorrow my wife will get her turn
And Her Sunday can take pride of place

She can cook dinner and Hoover
Catch up with her Soaps to her heart's content
I'll wander off to see the lads at the pub
And compare how our Saturdays went

Tommy Randell    01st December 2016
Matthew Roe Aug 2018
I wish you detox from drunken heights,
I’m jesus for today until my current shift ends
and the next one begins, after many nights,
in the garden centre of fallen south coast eden.

Shine shine shine
Light of mine
For now everything’s just fine

People’s faces glitter as I go by,
memories of sinless youth,
for my hands blind with nostalgia,
that my being resurrects.
The child Lazarus scurries past my side,
to his home with his future in his hands,
in my hands, cupped wide.

Shine shine shine
Light of mine
For now everything’s just fine

I can love the unfortunate,
for my fortune is golden.
Delivered in letters
from North, West, East.
My trinity circle who join me at my supper,
breaking the garlic bread and sipping the borello,
to top crab ravioli baptised in the stream of sauce.

Shine shine shine
Light of mine
For now everything’s just fine

The gates of heaven are open,
unblocked by the deaths of Keats, Shelley and Williams,
their souls not blocking the exit with an Underground Queue.
I give my blessings to
Livingstone and Charles Gordon
The one native he changed and the others’ sacrifice at Khartoum
Gained me my crown to modestly flaunt.

Shine shine shine
Light of mine
For now everything’s just fine

I float down the hall, to His Mighty Voice,
as my gold becomes a donation on the alter,
to gain the choral hymns of Mercury gilded rock gods
that will brighten my days
for now,
oh glorious moments.
For all those who were also successful on results day.
Please comment your interpretations, i'm always waiting to hear them.
Kathleen M Oct 2018
little white envelope
sealed with a promise
just like the others
open to find means to a better end
no bitter ends will you let begin
colourful notes meant to read
i love you
words not easily spoken
through clenched teeth
jaws locked
rusted with time
years spent unhinged
spoiled words spoken between lips
unforgiving winds
their destruction still left to rebuild
tension releases by passing annum
moments spent in silence
make way for healing
and days left to heal with you are unknown
days left are precious
words are simple
but they hold undeniable potential
barriers thin but exist nonetheless
not in contempt
but in habit
detox made easier by bullet holes
of past attempts to infiltrate
your kingdom
of fatherhood
B L Costello Dec 2018
He plays with himself,
He thinks he competes,
But he never wins,
And he always cheats
So long in the game,
He doesn’t know why,
He likes to keep score,
But it’s always a tie,
Clean for minute,
They call it detox,
*** in a jar,
And shadowbox,
He thinks he ahead,
You can tell by his grin,
But he’s running a race that nobody wins
©B L Costello 2018
If I could do anything
I would be controlling clocks
And go right back to that mouldy box
With the broken locks
And the electrics off
Those days when I would sold me socks for cake and drops
Whist cooking rocks
***** this K detox
I feel like a baby fox
Thats I been ***** by all 3 bears and goldilocks
But day by day with my tool box and theese building blocks
I'll build my very own fort knox
Il see the light shine when I stike the  fire from my matchbox
Listening to my old jukebox
FireheartFading Nov 2018
I am broken;
A broken man.
Something important
Has died inside.

I swore to myself,
That I would never again
Lose control of my senses,
But now, here I am...

I drank so much liquor,
I poisoned myself.
And now, every day,  
I awaken to ****.

And one week later,
I thought I'd recovered,
But then came the pills,
And calls from my mother.

There's twenty-four hours,
In each of these days,
But for those lost moments,
I lived in a haze.

Too scared to seek sleep,
For the nightmares would come,
I wished to high ****
That I still owned a gun.

I opened my eyes
And a full day had passed.
The last I remember,
I'd fell to the grass.

The cop took some pity,
And instead of jail,
He took me to detox,
It didn't end well.

The sixty-four xanax
I swallowed that night,
Still give me the shakes
And I wake up in fright.

It may not have killed me,
But it might as well,
For someone so "blessed"
I feel broken as ****.

It's been two more days,
And I can't help but think
What may have happened
If I'd stepped to the brink...

No cliff is too high,
No bayou too small,
Even now, I imagine,
Of ending it all.

My friends have all left me,
There's scars on my hands.
It serves to remind me,
I am a broken man...
Sorrow, depression, overdose
Jo Swan Dec 2018
Addicted to bad boys-
taste of toxic love leaves a toll.
Relationships flavoured with brutes;
kisses hook my naïve soul-
lips sugary as jellybeans.
Body package in suave suits,
like an ad of Vogue magazines,
they’ve become my junk food.

Addicted to bad boys
like a druggie on *****!
Their hearts can’t commit,
I’m just one of their play toys.
I seek for a dopamine hit
with the thrills of bad boys.
Bite of their love leaves me hungry,
this attraction is not healthy!

Addicted to bad boys,
they’ll laugh and be so crude.
Abusive words will whack;
arrogance as fat as greasy cheese.
Shame clogs in cholesterol plaque,
polluting my own arteries-
all ready for a heart attack.
Why do I crave such ******?

Addicted to bad boys,
addicted to bad boys,
for the sake of my health,
it is time for a detox!

(c) Jo Swan
#bad #boys #food #addiction #junk #love #relationship #abuse #unhealthy
Moonflower Jan 4
you were a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding,
i was the gauze volunteering itself.
i don't know why i never accepted that you only put yourself first;
i guess i thought if i loved you fiercely enough you would see that i was worth placing at least second.
i think of our softer moments and it takes all i have to keep from unravelling,
even though they only lasted as long as the summer did.
sitting beside you in your hospital bed late june,
i know now that you just needed a distraction from your detox,
and that it wouldn't have made a difference if I'd just stayed home.

it's 7:25 in the morning and i'm outside smoking a cigarette beside grass so cold that it appears blue.
nothing will rid me of my thoughts reluctantly drifting to you.
thought takes shape in the form of smoke clouds
billowing out from my lungs on this quiet morning.
i realize now what little concern i have for my own well-being.
you never warned me how abruptly you would change,
and i never promised i wouldn't jump ship.
the only difference is my thoughts weigh me down beneath the surface,
and you are already changing your route.
i was the poor ******* who saw your flaws and decided to keep loving you anyway.

i think of the feeling of when we kiss and how i can almost taste your soul
and so the breakdown begins
i loved you so tenderly
i remember the spring
i guess our moments were just moments to you
but to me, they were the beginning of our life together.
Kurt Philip Behm Aug 2018
Are you the hero of your own
  dime novel

Are you the toy at the bottom
  of the ******* jacks box

Are you the name on the wall
  of the public bathroom

Are you the saline solution
  they use to detox

Are you that groove in the record
  that repeats over again

Are you a promise forgotten
  carried off by a friend

Are you a serial spectator
  whose ticket’s not punched

Are you a banquet disaster
  in search of your lunch

Is your mirrored reflection
  left empty and cold

Is the one option left you
  —forlorn but foretold

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2018)

— The End —