"mainlining" poems
anxiety: my heart wakes me up, tattooing irregular beats against
my ribs, pulse racing, breath shaking. i cannot tell
if this is real or psychosomatic. these days,
i think about death all the time,
no longer by suicide. now, i am
an accident waiting to happen,
fragile from years of misuse &
neglect. the shallow inhales
of my lungs tell me
i am not okay.
depression: this is a gray day. i swallow my meds even though
they take away my mania. so i drink black coffee until my mind
races itself in circles, chasing its tail like a rabid dog.
i keep the razors hidden in my sock drawer,
just in case.
anorexia: my ribs ****** forward from my skin again, the sharp
protrusion of my bones beginning to show through. i am eating
but drinking my weight in water
& mainlining caffeine to keep my metabolism high & my weight
low. i am still child-sized & i don't want to grow.
they lift me easily with their arms & marvel
at my featherweight body.
the compliments i get only make me
eat less.
self-harm: on the days when i am low, i trace
the silver stretch of scars scattered over my skin
with a yearning for a blade between my fingers
just one last time. i swear to you, the bleeding is over,
but i need to know
i am still brave
enough
to hold a sharp edge against my flesh
& press down,
hard.
addiction: a month ago,
i downed four adderall in one sitting,
luxuriating in the heady rush & lack of pain,
the quiet & the calm.
when i lived at home, i stole
my mother's vicodin & took the whole bottle.
i'm not sorry.
when the boy who only cared about ******* me
offered mdma for free,
i accepted, but i shouldn't have trusted him
to keep me safe,
blacking out on his kitchen
floor.
drink red wine to forget
my insecurity, inhale
thick, sweet smoke to feel
some semblance of happy,
drag on cigarettes
down to their filters
until i feel properly
alive.
all i want is to be better, but
where to begin?
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 9:59 AM UTC
"Sweetheart, You lose so much weight"
"I'm fine mom, I've already ate"
Sedative words that can't extricate
Food, Is what I begun to hate.
Thin, Thin, Very Thin
Left with bones and waxen skin.
I'm famished but anxious of the kilos
Furtively eating with my eyes, Day by day this is how it goes.
Mirror, Mirror on the wall, can't you see?
What you show is demising me.
Every calorie is a conflagration
Stepping into the scale a redundant vexation.
Stand upon my reflection again
A fat *** is what I see, vociferating of my brain
makes me regurgitate in so much pain.
Drops of anesthetic mainlining my soul
numbers in the scale are reigning without control.
Flesh into ebbing, turning acrimony into cuts
throwing meals, when everyone shuts
All is left is my aweary bones
Still it whispers
"Not thin enough"
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
It is with sadness and long remorse
That we entertain this curse of course
It’s most absurd, and that’s the rub
Introducing the Twenty Seven Club
Each decade we see the number grow
And wonder as the we see them go
Musicians so young, with hope and fears
Meet their demise, after twenty seven years
Robert Johnson was early, a master of blues
A roadhouse musician who paid his dues
Brian Jones helped found the Rolling Stones
And drowned in a pool while swimming alone
Alan Wilson at Woodstock played with Canned Heat
Took too many downers, his life was complete
The great guitarist, Jimi Hendrix gave thrills
But died in his sleep from too many pills
Janis Joplin, with energy and power of force
At age twenty seven died mainlining horse
The Doors Jim Morrison, one of a kind
Extinguished with drugs his poetic mind
Badfinger’s Pete Ham fortified with drink
Took his own life, another twenty seven link
And Kurt Cobain, Nirvana’s front man
Died at twenty seven, from his very own hand
Amy Winehouse, one of the members of late
Perceived a world full of anguish and hate
A talent with beauty, her hair black as coal
But alcohol toxicity soon took its toll
Not mentioned are many members left out
There is no time now to give them a shout
We hope they gather and sing in heaven
The members of the Club - Twenty Seven
Sep 15, 2022
Sep 15, 2022 at 9:53 PM UTC
Mainlining
e v e r y
poetic
word
**THE BUZZ
is**
*w
o
r
t
h
i
t*
.
.
.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 7:33 AM UTC
will you still think of me
when the winter’s snow
like ****** needles sticking
and pricking me
slamming your smack
mainlining your masochism
melts to pastel pink mornings
and pregnant dewdrops
gravity propelling them
down flower petal water slides?
will my taste loiter on your lips
will the memory of my touch
my ghost fingers
still leave erupting goose-bumps
your hair standing on end
my unalloyed current
sparking into the night of kerosene.
will the fire bring me to mind?
my face engraved on your memory
like a holy icon
to which you run when the flames
rage as far as you can see
the orange haze of ******
and the hoard of children running
blistered skin
and their screams piercing
gouging
each wearing your face.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
spent many a night
inhaling words
mainlining metaphors
then spent days
sleeping off the dreams
and when I woke up
again, took a hit of
the next word I saw
and did
it all again!
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 12:20 AM UTC
I know this is a place for poems but night is a hard night and I'm trying to fight through it for my love ones, when really I want to walk right over to the corner and end it all. But, so many people tell me I have so much more to live for when others tell me to leave and that I'm worthless. I showed up today at school with fresh cuts and many people stared while others asked why? And as they ask that I ask Why Not? So here is just a little bit of what I'm feeling tonight? But I'll be okay?
“Why?’ She nods. ‘She had everything: a family who loved her, friends, activities. Her mother wants to know why she threw it all away?’ Why you want to know why? Step into a tanning booth and fry yourself for two or three days. After your skin bubbles and falls off, roll in coarse salt, then put on long underwear woven from spun glass and razor wire. Over that goes your regular clothes, as long as they are tight.
Smoke gunpowder and go to school to jump through hoops, sit up and beg, and roll over on command. Listen to the whispers that curl into your head at night, calling you ugly and fat and stupid and ***** and ***** and worst of all ‘A disappointment.’ Puke and starve and cut and drink because you need an anesthetic and it works. For a while. But then the anesthetic turns into poison and by then it’s too late because you are mainlining it now, straight into your soul. It is rotting you and you can’t stop. Look in a mirror and find a ghost. Hear every heartbeat scream that everything single thing is wrong with you. ‘Why?’ is the wrong question. Ask ‘Why not?”
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
Espresso shots pour,
And I'm mainlining caffeine.
The taste of coffee tickles my tounge
And I feel at ease.
Milk steaming,
Eyes gleaming
Smile beaming.
Then the espresso shots die.
I let them sit too long.
Didn't down them quick enough
Or craft a creative caffinated drink
To keep me awake.
I too fall dead asleep
Weak
By the bleak
Black eye
And frowning face.
Uppers and downers
I am the latter,
Flattering to be the the stimulating
Drink that drowns her.
I'm no longer interested in espresso.
A barista falling
Like my fortísima not running
Now crawling.
I'm not caring,
Unawaring
Becoming wary
And scary.
I lost myself
And esteem
To be the milk that was once steamed
And sweetened.
Dead like espresso shots
On a lonely bar.
My head is clouded by knots
Of why I've strayed so far.
Feb 8, 2020
Feb 8, 2020 at 11:16 PM UTC
Here are some mishaps from mainlining madness
The stars now seem sinister..
they hang from twine on a crowded skyline
like so many peepholes for a pervert god
I could never live up to these fantasies now mass produced
I DON'T HAVE THE ANSWERS
I'm not sure what constitutes base line normalcy
When considering a suited institutions interpretation of reality...
Lines perpetually blur into an infinite numb
Did free will give us the devices for denying our own mechanics?
How do you reconcile a mind retired from wondering?
Are these crowded spaces nothing more than sad faces displacing silence?
and how much enamel was lost...
in pursuit of despondency?
Ponder a fond portrayal
like we don't all cling to crumbling foundations
You may find me accidentally existing inside a stranger I never intended
You may find me blissfully malfunctioning..
break down illuminated by fluorescent hums
Some concrete charades for gray days full of time
Now and then...
I can pretend my plight for silence transcends the rational
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 4:33 PM UTC
She spent her life
attached to a man
who could not love or be loved.
Her nuptials became her prison with a life sentence.
She could hear ghosts of unrequited love in her arteries.
She shivered from the hollowness of life in her veins.
She applied a tourniquet to her aorta
to stop the pulsing
the beating
the mainlining of a nonexistent love and dreams relinquished.
Her heart once bold, open and tender
became petrified Rose Quartz
holding space in the cavity of her chest.
Time stood still for decades.
Her sentence was finally served.
Release date approved.
Off comes the tourniquet
allowing new love to flow through her!
It comes rushing in crimson red, rich with iron and oxygen!
Makes her cheeks blush and her breath deepen.
For now, it feels good to have life in her capillaries
And a heart beating with force.
She'll keep that tourniquet stuffed in her back pocket
Prepared for the next time her heart
is too much for someone.
For her spine is Lumerian Quartz
with barcodes of ancient wisdom.
It's taken thousands of lifetimes for a heart like this to evolve.
She was built for this.
Jun 22, 2025
Jun 22, 2025 at 9:45 AM UTC
He's bleeding, he's dying, His mother is crying,
Organized chaos we're trying to revive him but my hands just keep sliding,
Keep pushing more drugs and he's fighting, wait, now he's flat-lining,
Can't find a good vein from years of mainlining,
Shock one, two, shock three, for time borrowed not buying,
We can't stop the bleeding from holes we aren't finding,
Doc checks the clock so I know he's deciding, how much longer we go
when the seconds are flying but he just won't stop bleeding, his body is crying,
Call it,
Stop compressions,
Time of death...
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 2:25 PM UTC