"lorazepam" poems
The answer is i don't know..
Or do i know?
coke
xtc
mdma
tramadol
eph
xanax
cannabis
hasj
speed/amphetamine
2cc
flunitrazepam
codeine
vallium
ritalin
concerta
lsd/acid
bromazepam
lorazepam
2cb
etizolam
4fa
ketamine
2fa/2fma
ghb
mephedrone (meow meow)
methox
And i'm pretty sure my list won't end there.
It's not that i can't stop but i just don't want to feel reality.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 9:53 PM UTC
Dear Talia,
I don't want to be a tortured artist.
I don't want to be depressed and I don't want to be anxious.
Competitive sadness and disorders treated like accessories disgust me.
The world glamorizes mental illness, and I don't understand why. There is nothing romantic about being mentally ill just like how there's nothing glamorous about a broken wrist or a torn medial collateral ligament. There's nothing romantic about constantly being afraid that the world will fold in itself and **** you with it. There's nothing romantic about feeling like you could break down and cry at any moment.
This is the first piece I've written while being medicated.
I want it to be Christmas already.
The world dreams itself a halo, but can only attain horns. The halo is an illusion and the horns are an idea.
I'm due to take another Lorazepam. Would I look cool to the kids who idolize dysfunction and misinterpret pain as style, if I were to take one of these, with water and a distant glance, in front of them? Geez, to have their approval would to have everything and nothing at all.
I'm not sure why I've written as much about this as I have.
You.
It is 2:48 am and all I can think about, in this moment, is you.
I can't wait to spend Christmas with you. I can't wait to wear bad Christmas sweaters, and be the couple everyone hates, as we sing Christmas carols and spread holiday cheer.
I wrote this poem a few minutes ago. Sometime around 2:30 am. I'm not sure. I'm exhausted:
I sat on the edge of my bed, and on the edge of my life,
medicated to the point of pointlessness. Soft.
It was the nineteenth, not the twentieth,
and I wished I saw the fireworks with her fifteen days earlier.
My gasps tore the shingles off of the house.
And they hung suspended above the hole in the roof.
And God stared down into my room, as the shingles swirled skyward.
"I see you," I said, "but I don't believe in you."
I left home and ran until I was a dream that had passed itself.
I hope that was okay.
I love you.
Yours,
Joshua Haines
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 2:56 AM UTC
I don't need drugs. My brain is drugs.
Maybe it's a side effect of a mother that dropped acid for the first trimester of pregnancy and then some.
Maybe it's a side effect of the abusive step father that told me I would never amount to anything and that I am ********
My brain processes things at about a hundred miles per hour. In conversations I am always three steps ahead of what ever was said last. I make connections in things that are unconnected.
They tell me this is adult ADHD. They tell me I should be proscribed a pill to help my brain focus.
But focus isn't what I want. Nor is the drowsiness that comes with Lorazepam, the fog that goes with Prozac. I have been separately proscribed these things without ever filling the bottles.
But I fear that if I fix all my chemical imbalances, my medical maladies, that I will disappear into a fog.
Who am I without my OCD, without my brain over processing, over loving, over caring. Without the pain in my chest from another panic, my bouncing off the walls and singing to myself.
Maybe I am unwell.
But who am I without my unwellness?
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 2:37 AM UTC
There were always so many lizards and cat statues made out of china. But at some point what started to matter more were the boys on the pubescent school bus yelling obscenities and stealing ****** kisses from girls stuffing their bra and being too cool to wear Limited Too. It became difficult to imagine the lizard cage behind the duplex, a chain-linked refrigerator box, when there was a school dance to be embarrassed at while forming dance circles, soda can in hand. Then standing on the corner waiting for my dad to take me home before any of the late night talk shows aired.
Flash-forward: A blow-up air mattress in the middle of the living room at five in the morning and we were high.
We’re growing up from: the VW that smelled of crayons,
skipping class to go to the library downtown,
the greasy spoon diner,
the Goodwill,
fall outs, anxiety, lorazepam, writing ****** poetry,
getting popsicles from whole foods and eating them in the park during winter.
The sun’s lavender light peaked through the closed blinds while the satisfaction of making out with a boy who likes boys felt as good as the realization that girls don’t always have to like boys either.
There’s a chance I could still catch a lizard.
And yea it’s cliché, but **** happens and things change.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 4:59 PM UTC
*Clonazepam, Lorazepam, Diazepam, Alprazolam, if you've been acquainted with benzodiazepines,
Then you will know the hassle that I hearby mean.
Names so crazy it's like they fit your mind,
Yet without them they can be so unkind.
Clonazepam, Lorazepam, Diazepam, Alprazolam,
Tiny little pills, oh how you can truly and seriously help me to heal!
Yet, you make us happy as we should be without you to feel,
Because I'd rather remember you as an old friend who was there for a while to keep me "still".
Clonazepam Lorazepam, Diazepam, Alprazolam...
I know it's hard to say goodbye,
So for now I'll just say "goodnight",
And maybe one day I'll see without you-
the true happiness of daylight.*
❥
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 3:25 AM UTC
This place was new to her
Tendrils of envy
That had over ran her heart
Like spilled ink
The witch gobbles six Lorazepam
Just to survive the after noon
And trips from her botched stride of self righteousness
Her inaccuracy, in her mind is fact
Her sense of superiority over shadows any type of kindness that trickles out every now and then
Her flippant demeanor
Is known and is spoken of in fork tongued folklore
Her spells of insanity and depravity
Leaving all the passes in a stated of relentless unease
She trots the ash covered cobble ****** alleyways of the sullen slums
And the scornful ****** watch from rusted fire escapes
Blades in hand, back-pocket crucifix
They swoop down and surround her
She who caused the drought, the death of all live stock and infants’ demise
She falls to the ground
“May the truths of the universe diminish your incantations!”
She screams
They cover their ears and douse her with holy water
Her skin peels revealing her grotesque scaly red skin
Her yellow eyes gleam as its pupils dilate
“And with these blades of sanctuary we obliterate your being”
A typhoon of stabs follows
And a sacred jar is laid out
To capture her spirit
So it may never return
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
I'm doing this no justice.
Saving my tongue for dryer days, keeping the ones I actually love from losing their own pinkish tails in my waning nonsense.
Sane and civil... because I am my fathers shifting chameleon; his white blazer and my mothers blood orange; her Lorazepam.
My name alone is treaty.
One lonely gabble lodges itself inside of my esophagus.
Get lost founding father.
Burn harder rebellion.
I need me on my surface, not buried under the expected ammunition of ink.
End your sparkle, sparkler.
Here, your exploding gold only crushes the windpipe of flowers.
I have nightmares that stretch my fears towards our waking sun.
Yawning out the last sighs of moon.
Once again, I hesitate and stumble on tongue.
I've seen my words startle rust like the flat cat call 'boos’ of halloween towards November.
Since I've been buried, halloween hasn't missed a year.
And the gibberish of its mask will always sting as resonant.
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 2:35 AM UTC
Ya couldn't call me restless
but nah, ya couldn't call me lucid either
Floating on a benzo-pretty philharmonic cloud.
Sharp bitey thinglings softened
they swim backward in confusion
and this Kwan Yin, floating freely
leaves them gasping on the sand.
She regards dark circles, smiling
She regards her injuries, smiling
She regards her troubles, smiling
All around, a pinkish haze
Nay, the chemicals won't will trip her
catch her painted skirt
and tear silk
to be jolted from her reverie
is never to be told.
This she knows, but now she floats
for she must have tangible proof...
that Reality is not real
and the text is set in BOLD.
00.11.6539
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 6:25 AM UTC
If there's nothing they can do,
nothing I can be taught
in order to push the cold away,
please tell me at least the food
will be okay.
The last time, sauce dripping
over my teeth like I am supposed
to sink down into it, pour myself over
the meaty softness of someone else's body
and rest, being absorbed
into their consciousness until
I am nothing more than
a weight on their tongue.
Tell me I'll be able to sleep. They were
always leaving the door open,
the lights still on, I can't sleep knowing
that any moment something could happen
and it could come for me.
Tell me the faucets will pour out
cold water so I can wake up. Tell me
there will be a mirror so I can watch
the lessons taking hold
across my jawline.
I need to know they'll let me in
to see the doctor. Not the one
who tells me everything will be
all right, but the one who has
a plan, who lays everything out
in the simplest terms, so I can
understand.
The one whose mouth zigzags
around broken syllables
like a crooked train track, spitting
Lorazepam, Citalopram, Trazodone,
I don't understand the language
but I know, he does this every day,
points nonsense words at shadows
hoping someday we'll understand.
Maybe I could. If I could only
pull the sauce out from my eardrums,
clear the junk from my tongue and
the wreckage from my teeth;
Mother,
if the food is good,
then maybe someday,
I'll be able
to taste it for
myself.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 2:11 AM UTC
Take these, they say;
They will help, they say.
How ‘bout some venlafaxine?
That will stop you wanting to die.
Bit anxious?
Some lorazepam will fix that!
Oh, how’s your sleeping?
Temazepam, zopiclone!
That’ll do the trick.
Your mood is unstable?
We have something to cure that!
We’ll add on some lithium and quetiapine,
How does that sound?
You’ll be all better in no time.
You take the pills,
Two in the morning (with a large glass of water)
During the day (as needed)
Three more in the evening (after food)
And three at night (an hour before bed)
Am I all better yet?
Well, I guess I don’t feel anxious..
And my mood isn’t all over the place…
In fact; I don’t have a mood at all.
Nothing.
Zombiefied.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 7:29 AM UTC
God ******* ******
Why can't I understand,
I'm flying this plane and can't land it,
After 23 years I thought I'd know how to be a man
My brain is in a wash bucket filled with soap that's clouding up my mind,
Okay, I give.. help, I've lost it, it flew out the window, I'm in a bit of a bind..
Alprazolam
Clonazepram
Diazepam
Lorazepam
Oxazepam
Chlordiazepoxide
Oh my god now I'm afraid of Z's
What happend to you? What caused these?
Those scars on my face or the hole in my heart?
Both
Well **** if I knew I wouldn't be talking to you.
What are you even scared of?
Currently I'm terrified of being afraid,
Like its going to hit me under my feet, numb
It's dumb, its stupid, so I'll just pick apart my heart with pliers, convince myself that the thoughts in my brain are liars,
Drip now blood and dry before you hit the floor.
mind keeps spinning as my heart sinks in these worries build in a hurry and my heart empties from the pliers, I don't think I can handle the emptiness anymore, who do I ask for help? Where do I go?? Who can keep me from these z's so I can catch up with mine?
I'm so tired..I'm afraid ..
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
Give me to carry
just a fragment of the cross.
A single thorn, or single lash
to suffer. A drop of blood.
At your worst, holding you
seemed to make the world make sense -
to you, at least -
but the nurses had lorazepam for that
and in more ways than one
I came to know impotence.
Like a supplicant, eating nothing at all
and playing cards with myself
while waiting for the Visitation.
At your best, I brought Halloween string lights
and Halloween candy for the holy sisters
and pagan holiday or no,
we gave that room the feeling of a convent,
and I wrung my hands while you slept.
Home in midafternoon and anxious
rosaries in azure on the bedsheets
and flowers in brown, on green field
dormant.
Sleeplessness was penance,
and so was I absolved; thus some of that
absolution affixed itself to relics
and that rubber duck on the dashboard
I touched in the morning traffic.
It glowed to say
your spirit was with me.
And though I now can sleep at any hour,
I examine it all the same
for some of Christ’s blood, or his forgiveness,
hoping to find the signet ring of the Pope
or at least some of your halo
where I should expect
the Byzantine absence of it.
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 6:36 PM UTC
One, two, three, four...
The dream shakes you down to your core.
Eyes open, breath in breath out, jerky.
Panic attack, heart thumping, sweaty.
Reach out .. bottle, pills, water.
Feel the lorazepam flying through your veins.
It’s not the same, no not the same...
It takes a few minutes for the calming effect
to convince me it was just a nightmare.
The same dream I’ve had for two years.
It visits me regularly like an old friend, but not friendly.
I try to sleep, cloak myself with the dark of night
that blankets me like a layer of comfort, a soothing.
I exhale, feel my breath rush out, relieving my fright.
I imagine a creak on the stair, was it real ?
Panic rises again.
I’m alone.
He’s here !
If it weren’t for the drugs,
I'd scream until the windows shattered.
Wait...it's just the cat.
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 9:54 AM UTC
Lively people and empty conversations.
In here it's so much colder.
Lorazepam and alcohol,
I'm drunk but at least bolder.
I've been looking into his brandy eyes,
feels like it's been so long.
Couple more sips and his black shirt,
now they are playing our song.
The room is now a chatter,
I can barely stand.
We talk about our fancy tea
with whiskey in our hands.
It's 3AM and whiskey kisses
also a lot of stories and lies.
Love songs only break your heart
so bid our blurry goodbye.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 11:59 AM UTC
I keep fighting off these tornadoes that makes my heart pound hard
The tornadoes that comes from anxiety; makes my stomach turn
The hyperventilation blows me down
The dizziness that happens when I can hardly breathe
All i see is a spinning room when I want it stop
I use anything as leverage to help me get
up, and also walk
I sweat without moving
It just feels like I’m exhausted without working hard
and my mind is working hard on me..
Craving for relaxation,
the milligrams called me
Immediately my mind was silenced; in a deep sleep
I sedated myself so I can also sleep
Relieved this anxiety that had me in chains
and took away my mind that is now in pain
Its so tiny, but those benefits are huge
I needed a release from all this tension
The sudden drowsiness wrings out the normality within me
I love the feeling of being sluggish
The sudden calmness got my breathing finally under control
Those bitter thoughts turned sweet
This cold heart turned warm
These muscle spasms loosened up
This tranquilizer targeted all my fears, anxiety, & worries
Now the bed catches me as I embrace this new feeling
Unfortunately it’s temporary
so my mind is jailed,
until its set free
Jul 23, 2023
Jul 23, 2023 at 12:58 AM UTC
Like a loaf loaded
with yet to bleeding blossom
lorazepam all fifty milligram
this what happens when you sack sam
Sick fan sycophant tell a man he can't
land a grand piano from a roof top
a belly flop on four legs makes sense
If not got a ***** top on the old mop
Intense chatter in the earlobe
oil dope in the fancy trench coat
take paper please simply note there's no hope
slick as slippery soap we got no back
This plane ten eleven years hijacked
a long way to find some actual senses
hit the train track practice bench pressing
Impact of the last note worth knowing
Easy bowling down loners alley
Instant as all striked out.
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 12:12 PM UTC