"medications" poems
That pure innocent smile,
Your childish face and that side profile,
Your silky hair and that perfect hairstyle,
Would never forget you.
**** I miss you!
The touch of your smooth skin,
That beautiful little chin,
Your blushy cheeks and that grin,
Still I adore you.
**** I miss you!
Those big dope eyes,
That Stupid nose ,
Those size 7 feet and pinky toes.
Your medications and Ayurvedic dose.
Wish again to feel you.
**** I miss you!
Baby I still remember,
that freezy December,
The day we fell off the scooter,
Your stupid buggy computer.
Our first date and the perfect kiss,
That raining night we spent in balcony
When you burnt the toast and macrony,
That birthday card you made me,
Helping in projects and assignments,
You taking care when I got sick,
I recall all those perfect memories of you,
still there's a place for you,
**** I miss you!
I wish you would have waited,
I would have come back,
But I can't blame you,
It was me who needed the space,
The fault is my OWN!
So I am the one left ALONE! :'(
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC
My pain is not a poem,
my poetry isn't poetic.
It's cryptic and a message,
cutting up and breaking
branches. Comprehensive;
my poems are suicidal, files of
medications and prescriptions
are seemingly all my mind
can write. Jumping to conclusions
and indenting my addictions,
inflicting this confliction, convictions
I don't mention. Those rhymes that
I have wrote; it was the drowning as I broke,
a broken draft of notes, that sing:
"you'll never learn to float,"
Acid, or is it water?
I'm hoping for the latter,
well I guess it never mattered,
years doubled and I'm sadder.
When does it get better?
When do I get better?
I guess it never will, and I'm
home but I'm not here,
I'm stuck, I'm stuck, I'm stuck,
and all my heart
can pump is tears-
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 8:06 PM UTC
Vulnerability finally found its voice
I’m feeling fear
Willing and hopeful
Healings’ less frightening
When free to be vocal
Mindfulness and meditation
Unexpected belonging after years of isolation
Looking up at the same dark sky
Trying to interpret fading constellations
Realizing there’s more to us than just a rainbow of medications
And no matter one’s diagnosis
We all long to stay present and focused
And crawl out of the darkness for good
Because vulnerability finally found a voice
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 3:33 AM UTC
These medications are making her ill.
Wants to live before she dies.
There's a ford full of tears before her.
It's filled up by her eyes.
She wants to live before she dies.
She cries a little more, she refuses again.
He blames the woman she blames the men.
An element of got no choice.
She's so ill.
They've stolen her choice.
She has no voice.
They stole it.
All the powers that be.
Nearing the end,
She's trying to smile.
Soon she'll be free.
(c) Livvi
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 5:55 AM UTC
If you're a celebrity
For medications come to me
I have them all, come see, come see
I'm the devil in disguise
I sign prescriptions by the score
If you run out, I'll give you more
I'll bring your pills right to your door
I'm the devil in disguise
Dr. Robert, Feelgood too
Names I'm sure are known to you
If you're in need call you know who
I'm the devil in disguise
Uppers, Downers, oxy's....well
Imagine what is down in hell
I'll keep your secret, I won't tell
I'm the devil in disguise
Elvis called, and MJ too
They both liked pills in shades of blue
No one else does what I do
I'm the devil in disguise
It's up to you, which choice you make
I fulfill, and you....you take
I'm here all night, don't need a break
I'm the devil in disguise
If you're in need, well...I'll be there
You pay for service, and I care
I've got lots, and lots to share
I'm the devil in disguise
If you're mute, and lost your voice
You know I'm your only choice
I'll be right round in my Rolls Royce
I'm the devil in disguise
You'll end up dead, but I'll keep kicking
With pills and needles, stars keep sticking
I'm the doctor all the stars are picking
I'm the devil in disguise
I am the devil, that is true
I am around, that's not new
I'm known to them, but not to you
I'm their doctor...till they die.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
Painkillers intended to numb the pain
But they numb the heart from beating.
Administered to the ill and injured
Resulting in worse illness or injury.
An injury to the heart beat
To the collapsing lungs,
The vital components of life.
Without the medications,
The symptoms return
Full-fledged.
But with them, the ability
To function normally
Is absent.
The question at hand is
Whether it is better to suffer
From pain or numbness.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 10:33 AM UTC
There are ways in which I let myself indulge in your presence
And when I can pretend that were more than what we are
When I pretend to absentmindedly move my leg so it just so happens to touch yours
And I feel the burning of the contact even through the fabric that separate us
It feels as big of a declaration of love as screaming the words out loud would be
I find myself creating and following these intricate rituals to create contact when I know there shouldn’t be any
I pretend to forget things at your house just so that I may see you again even for a moment
Today I drank alcohol even though I knew that I shouldn’t mix it with my medications
I fell into a dream state where the world felt warm, and right and in that room alone with you I knew I belonged nowhere else
In that dimly lit room I saw you in the light that I’ve been avoiding seeing you in
Because when I looked at your hands they seemed so soft and like they would fit perfectly in mine with interlocked fingers
I saw your skin glowing and as I looked at the way you shined I found my self unable to concentrate because of how in love with you I felt
Jun 13, 2022
Jun 13, 2022 at 2:19 AM UTC
Blessed I’ve been with God.
But I’m stuck in the winds.
How much for your soul?
Come pay for your sins.
Nowadays I can’t trust.
It seems so hard to win.
I don’t want to lose myself, amongst these mortal men.
Been in the streets fighting temptations.
Running from my problems and complications.
I’m so moody now that I’m off my medications.
But now I’m focused with more dedication.
Stuck within my flaws.
Smoking, have no wind.
Summers over, now it’s cold.
I've lost so many friends.
Nowadays I can’t trust.
And I cannot pretend.
If I ever lose my health, I’ll self destruct again.
Been in the streets fighting temptations.
Running from my problems and complications.
I’m so moody now that I’m off my medications.
But now I’m focused with anticipations and dedications.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 12:48 AM UTC
oasis soul
aches open sored genre of suffixes
or not enough crying alone
right natural science psychologists know
the medications and forms to get the payments
I am drugged amazement willing
to watch
and sigh
dreaming of a good time, dose shelters
the destination
faster than reality.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 3:32 AM UTC
is it love
or the parasite ?
my pilot bulk
aims for relief
it pursues this via
your romantic correction
in public arena
a library stair
(i never prior encountered you)
one step as foreigner
the approach
and upon a swift internal pendulum
i make witless incisions
hurried mended sentences
directed stuns
invasive
i demand the compromise
of your company
hastily push at boundaries and
you're not so accommodating
but
on a further occasion
same building
we exchange a battering of conversation
that
then
matures
into barter-like use of language
despite my harassments
a civil cultivation is unearthed
tongue within this intelligence effort i lessen
loosen my demanding appearance
disregard my dignity
a skin suit about the ankles
you're open in a vein of similarity
you flesh out your own controls
we've progressed quickly
there's an aped conduct
and flashing attitudes
this time we share table space
a nearby café
we have become quite unmanned
repeated meet ups
upon humours we adjust small habits
and shake on perceptions where we overlap
it becomes
more an overlay of rationalities
than resented promises
fast time passes and
i move into your living space
i pick a wildflower
and put it in the tiny vase on your dining table
we agree on its colour
we agree on a book to make our bible material
we agree on the pitch of the tinnitus we share
the clothes i am to wear
i switch to your diet
and you cease taking medications
we sleep on your lawn like children
and bring down the night sky for comfort
during the day we wear our sleep
like a lubrication for our chores
and go about our productivity
in genuine partnership
yet
i feel we're just out of reach
of some dark harm
we are an excellent sample pair
it is all vital
we grow stronger the more we quiz it
recycling our **********
refine our agreements
await further impulses
and come closer to plug
so..
do we please love
or simply indulge a parasite ?
Nov 23, 2021
Nov 23, 2021 at 10:28 PM UTC
In your past, this past
they weren't valued
no one said they were members of the family
what walks on four legs and is furry and cute is only
to last as long as nature intended and then to be disposed of
Veal calves in crates, taken from mothers on the day of their birth
to make more milk for humans, horse slaughter for glue
and foi gras, ducks and geese locked in a vice grip of their cages
metal tubes rammed down their throats and force fed until a liver disease
develops, painful, but given no respite
and served as a delicacy and
fur coats from animals skinned alive right here in America
still when mink farms are outlawed in the Netherlands and
two million dogs and cats skinned in China every year not to mention
other horrors and no one cared or looked their way because they are
only animals, and voiceless and helpless and no one cared to give them
a voice or advocacy
"that's why they're there, for our use, people still say" who profit from an industry
of suffering
And today, there are people who try to give them a voice and there are veterinarians who will try to help you with your member of the family, as he suffers, in his old age
a bag of fluids hangs from my exercise bike, and intermixed with my medications
is the painkiller and anti-nausea pills for my dear old friend
whose pancreas is failing
and father, this is foreign to you
you pretend it is a crime
silence is the only thing connecting us now
I hope you enjoyed your last barrage of unkind words
I think you did. The saddest thing I've learned about people like you
is
you feel better after such an attack, to see me reeling, bleeding on the ground
and you feel better, calmer and purged.
A kind of misbegotten peace settles over you
an exploitive peace from another's tears and pain
And yes, father, there were no agencies to give a voice to children
when you were young
no CPS, to aid my nine year old ***** friend
as a code of silence enveloped her attacker
to protect him, the one who destroyed her
But today there is a small brigade of a modern kind of love
to give a voice, protection, soothing to the ones who can
only suffer at our hands and not protect themselves from
our wrath and exploitation
and it is a better world for that, father
for my furry pancreatic friend and for any other
nine year old **** victims here
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 12:38 PM UTC
when i was 8 years old,
i got off the bus.
i got off the bus to two words.
the next 72 hours were spent hiding in a basement.
nothing was coming.
i think, at least...
the whispers in my head told me otherwise though,
so in the basement i stayed.
when i was 10 years old,
the news woman shared stories.
the news woman told me the end was near.
maybe that wasn't her exact words.
i didn't sleep...
just in case.
insomnia became a friend of mine.
when i was twelve years old,
the new year rung in and i was alone.
the house was blanketed in silence,
and i sat on an empty couch,
and everything had seemed so quiet.
a razor blade was my only company.
we became quite close that night.
when i was fourteen years old,
i wandered barren hallways,
adorned with crimson.
they had given me free socks when i'd arrived.
the psych ward was not nearly as loud as the voices in my head.
i am now sixteen years old.
medications flow through my veins,
scars dance up and down my wrists,
and although i am surrounded by people,
i am so alone.
the moral of the story:
tell me when you figure it out,
because trust me, i'm still trying.
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 1:06 PM UTC
I awaken to find my mind either a complete blur, a fuzzy, foggy place, or a place of a maelstrom of thoughts, ideas, and emotions, some from the previous day, some from even before that. Electrifying anxiety, paralyzing fear, crippling doubt and depression are the orders of the day, when I fully awaken. I eat, then take my pills, to get my thoughts in some semblence of order. I go through the day, feeling trapped by problems my medications cannot control. I find myself either blaming everything and everyone else for said problems, or ripping out my own entrails as I blame myself - one extreme or another. I have visions, dreams, hopes of success, but then my depression, or whatever it is, kicks in, and wipes out those dreams, reducing me to a mess of shattered hopes and dreams. This is why I spend most of my days on tumblr, where people see me for who I am, but even there, people judge and discriminate against me, for whatever I have. On tumblr, I have friends that I roleplay out various characters with, different personalities, sometimes variations of myself take shape. Tumblr is the only place where I can seemingly have a reality in which I have control. The Internet is my portal to reality, my line of defense against what could be described as agoraphobia. But I still desire the company of people my own age, physically, rather than electronically, but I do not have the same interests of most of them, and am scared to death of doing so. The very thought of meeting a large group, or even an individual, sends me into a panic attack-like state, then I fall quickly into a state of depression because of that. I hate myself for that anxiety, the awkwardness I have. Loathe is the correct word. This is why I hide behind a computer screen. It may not be perfect, but I find it easier to interact online. I do not know how to translate how my characters act to my own actions, as some have suggested for me to do. I have been told that I need to choose to get out of this hole in which I am trapped. It is a struggle every day to even get enough energy to care, much less try to get out of the hole. The only way out is by climbing a steep cliff, covered by snow and ice, cut by the howling, bone-chilling wind, with only two hooks, in my hands, to claw my way out, fighting the falling snow and ice, occasional rock and hail, sleet too. There seems to be no place to make a camp, where I may rest, only the long, arduous, grueling climb, my vertical trek, my seemingly Sisyphean task that awaits me. A choice that may seemingly **** me. People have suggested that I turn to the supernatural, but that is a fool’s bet, a folly of hope, a wish of the people who build their castles in the sky.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
Even if
nightmares, cats, leaders, *** beauty, hugs, feelings, melodies, technology, communication, life, abandonment, longings, mornings, electronics, kingdoms, followers, humiliation, darlings, hyperventilation, depression, Alonedom, ghosts, trundles, Hell, gravity, tickling, hearts, unicorns, twins, education, lost ones, ink, medications, pavements, thoughts, souls, suicide, walls, hatred, alcohol, oceans, soles, music, misspellings, transportation, buses, guts, Heaven, time, attractions, ***** hands, blindness, organs, dreams, bodies, distances, understanding, currency, energy, love, spaghetti, contentment, happiness, tears, fire, people, oxygen, tongues, children, peace, death, papas, zombies, homicide, blood, kisses, drugs, families, caffeine, mamas, space, parchments, baked goods, economy.
didn't exist,
I would still wish you would
But you don't anymore
so nothing matters.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 2:20 PM UTC
We,
the uninsured
being inured to this,
the will of gods.
Our lives doled out in tablet form
from birth to breath by those pharmacists
with death proscribed,
prescription wise.
My eyes have seen the crookedness that shake
foundations,
three times a day we pray again to all the gods
to open up and swallow pills and god just nods
his head,agrees that we need medications.
The ***** top bottle throttles me
but I am strangled happily by those 'dolls'
the greens and reds of fol de rols
a plague on gaudiness unless instructions say,
take the pills three times a day.
These games we play, I'll say,
are just a side event,a small diversion to prevent us
from ever having to face the facts,
but we're inured to that and so,
on and on and on we go until the end is reached.
I plead,
just one more pill,
it appears that this is not the will of god or any pharmacist,
I missed the last bus home,but home is hell and
so that's just as well.
I wait in the wings to see
what tomorrow brings.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 6:45 AM UTC
It'll be two years soon.
Two years,
Five psychiatric medications,
Six relapses,
20 pounds lost and gained,
And lost again,
And one suicide attempt.
And now I'm here,
Still trying to wash your fingerprints
Off of my bruised skin.
Trying to forget your voice
And the feeling of your grip
On my wrists and throat.
Two years later
And I still can't bring myself
To say the word out loud.
The R word.
Two years later and I still
Tell myself
"You idiot, you should have known."
Two years later
And every time I pass your house
On the way to see my psychiatrist
I have half a mind
To burn it to the ground.
To throw rocks in your windows.
To slash the tires
On your red jeep.
Maybe by next year
I'll stop seeing you in my dreams.
I'll stop feeling your hands
All over me.
I'll stop hearing
Your voice breaking through tears
Telling me you love me.
Maybe by next year
The scars from when
I locked myself in your bathroom
And tore myself apart
Will fade completely.
Maybe by next year
I'll actually be able
To say the word ****
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 2:42 AM UTC
Head a hostile environment again
Emotion overthrows intelligence
Fragile skull accepts another beating
and indecency becomes preference
Absorbing black into gray matter
Meticulous infiltration;
Makes death a desire
and living a fear
Friendly fire
Mind battles disease, disease
obliterates mind to violence
collided with sharpened corners of myself
****** mess, wrong message
Swallowing hostile heavy medications,
contain my elation so that overjoy
doesn't morph into mania, or joy
Mass of electrons now inside
find nothing positive; thought paralyzed
Deviating cells that scare themselves
from the darkened sanguinary state.
wide eyed faces searching for a homeostasis
Far from stable since demon's rule
Constant epiphanies with no execution
turn to facts filed in brain catalogs
Fully aware solutions are there,
but the drawers are glued shut
~kb
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 12:43 AM UTC
It’s not much, I mean, but
uh, nothing, sorry, man I got butterfingers
slippery as my tongue, here
did you drop something, are you sure?
cause my thump-thumping heart dropped
so hard to the floor when it knew you were near
that it bounced right back up
right where it goes, then straight out my crown chakra,
only to dissipate and erupt
into Truth
the literal and the metaphorical
allegorical nebulas that resonate in full high-definition colour the way
all Nine symphonies played simultaneously
would look
sedimentary, like a cheesecake
when I first saw you, something
shifted in my horoscope with the same scope and scale
of a modern Greek myth – Prometheus rising, fire
in the eyes of one woman, that’s all
all Aphrodite could gather up—fix it to the mainstay, Odysseus
let’s get to it, in siren seas, eating weeds to survive
if there’s nothing left when Cthulu
comes alive, I hope at least
I’ll get to talk to you at a party
like, once, where we’ll mix some more
mythologies
Once Inana birthed the world, and Spider Woman showed her how
I could show you how Saraswati
makes music, and old Bacchus stays on his feet
Care to play my Isis? If that makes me Osiris
then drown me, chop me up. Throw my body
to Mr. Lucifer; the Morrigan will come to inspect your ****
and finding it satisfactory
will whisk you away somewhere better
How’s that last part sound to you, eh?
there’s not much left to waste in the techno age
of “nothing in moderation,” with all our
degradation,
defamation,
discrimination,
and mild inflammation caused by
nonspecific anxiety medications
in our nation of constant false elation,
so
my point is time
the one thing we got left to waste
is time, and I’m a dedicated pacifist, but
I wouldn’t mind killing
some of that, with you
Let’s blow this pop stand
and go hunting.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
There once was a tiny bundle of cells that grew in my womb
without the assistance of fertility medications or ovulation testing
a surprise spontaneous occurrence of the first sparks of Life
a product of the kind of ******* that happens on a honeymoon
between newlyweds full of bliss, lust, and hope
My womb once thought uninhabitable to such an occurrence
boarded a plane home five days later
cradling this new truth-
The Honeymoon Baby
Weeks would pass before my womb would begin to betray its secret
3 days late- nothing
5 days late- nothing
8 days late- the little blue plus sign and a whisper from deep in me-
“You aren’t broken?”
For several hours my womb and I jealously guarded this knowledge
My new husband not known for his enthusiasm wouldn’t share in my joy
So I sat alone feeding my hungry heart on now debunked beliefs
“You AREN’T broken!”
Having gorged myself to the point of bursting on a meal years in the making
I looked with wet eyes to my then partner of more than half a decade
“we made a honeymoon baby; I’m not broken.”
No, he wouldn’t share my joy.
His eyes turned to windows in the days that would follow
They screamed their disgust into the wide open parts of me
as pointedly and with as much passion as his mouth could ever muster
It was then that I began to silently pray the baby away
My silence only increased his vitriol until with a blast he climaxed in his rage
and I felt the cold of the recently adorned wedding band against my neck
as the hands which had held mine so softly so often pinned me to the door
Finally my silent prayers gave way to a singular scream
“I ******* hate you and I hate your child inside of me!”
My womb cried to hear the prayer spoken
She cried so long and so loud that she began to bleed
She heaved and sobbed her rage into rivers of blood that wouldn’t stop for weeks
and earthquakes of cramps that would rock me to my core
The unstoppable current of tears and blood carried the translucent sac
that housed the had been Honeymoon Baby into the ***** porcelain bowl
The baby I prayed away that would never speak whispered up
“You are broken.”
The honeymoon was over.
I hadn’t hated him before that.
Six years later to the day we signed divorce papers.
Nov 12, 2019
Nov 12, 2019 at 6:19 PM UTC
Toilet paper toilet paper
Why do people in this time
Feel the need to stock up on toilet paper
What is the point of stocking up on toilet paper
That just proves there are a lot of ***** done in a day
People are buying 5 packs of 12 toilet paper, they must have diarrhoea or something
I personally think it is stupid
They say I gotta wipe my ***
About 56 times a day
**** me dead
If you want to have enough toilet paper in a week
STOP FUCKEN EATING
Because I don’t see the connection
With the carrona virus and toilet paper
People are just scared or stupid
Well, they are more stupid
Saying toilet paper toilet paper
We gotta have enough toilet paper
Gotta wipe me ***
Gotta make sure we don’t use our hands discusting
They are also trying to stock up on medications
Mainly a junkies thing though
The carrona virus hits me
Gotta have a Panadol
Or nurefen or Sudafed
Why the **** do people convert into being junkies
People sitting in the mall
Enjoying a high calorie lunch
With 17 undescribed medicine and 6 12 pack toilet rolls
The carrona virus can’t get us
What a bunch of crap
No, those people are news-scared junkies and drug junkies
When I say news-scared
I mean they hear we need toilet paper
So we buy six 12 packs of toilet paper
We are free from any virus
That comes our way
Athena doesn’t heal you if you be a ****** so why do they do it
I am in pain they say
I am in pain
No
They are not in pain
They are junkies and news-scared
Personally I had to buy paper towels to replace toilet paper
Hopefully that works
****** junkies
Mar 6, 2020
Mar 6, 2020 at 10:49 PM UTC
Diagnosed with mentally afflicting conditions/
Why I'm often covered in depression/
Fighting with addiction/
Suffacating conversations with judgemental complications/
Everyday Im waking up to a handful of medications/
It's embarrassing/
I promise from this moment now until my cremation to always make the best decision/
Despite whatever the caution might be to reach the desired life position/
Someone should have mentioned all the implications psychotic intentions have on relations/
Like the one between myself and all other human beings currently visiting/
Why I'm regularly checking out in day dreams of beautiful poetry that speaks/
Only problem being I'm unable to sometimes distinguish reality in the things I'm seeing/
So Im sorry for everyone that's sat through this psychotic rollercoaster, please don't let it be the me you remember/
Just think, that's my life to own except I often have to experience it alone/
I promise I didn't know the severity until just recently/
What I dont get is why nobody stopped to explain it/
My thoughts I knew were never right, which is why I put them on paper every night/
Finding comfort in the empty white when I write/
Putting my thoughts together every time I make rhymes for these poetry lines/
Made up by this one of a kind mind I sometimes can't find/
Remembering memories of a misery that inspires artistry/
Crafting my poetry from this hearts history/
Pieces of beautifully painted rhymes hidden within nameless poem lines/
The portrait of a forgotten poet coloured forever in this moment/
Doing this is the only thing holding together this cracked barrier/
Around this mind that's mentally unstable covered with an RX label/
Questioning moments if I might be psychotic/
Turning against myself with a straight jacket/
Lock set with the sunset, this I've come to accept/
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 7:40 PM UTC
Captured in the psych ward
With new year approaching Ron
Thinks it will be good to allow the patients to have the tv on so they can watch the fireworks and concert but every time he tried to speak about it, someone comes in yelling at the nurses to get something and ron had to calm him down
He yelled things like, it is new year and he wants to be with his kids because her deep **** of a husband had her locked in the psych ward so he can go to the city and ron not knowing what she is talking about told her to calm down but he didn't want to mention the tv idea because it isn't like being with family but she started to get violent and Ron injected her with ****** to settle her down and she went to her room and one man was admitted into the psych ward for doing nothing simply over the fact that he got violent when his parents said he can't go into the city to watch the fireworks and when Ron said we will probably allow you to watch the fireworks in here but he said the kids will tease him because he can't seem to get what he wants and each time he saw kids on tv he felt they were going to tease him heavily and Ron thought maybe the tv idea could cause a lot of fighting between the patients and Ron went into the kitchen to pick up the meals and the medications and brought them to the psych ward patients and one said the kids are teasing me and the adults are teasing me and if I watch the fireworks concert I will be a victim of a tease but Ron said he understands that people want to tease him because A they are just children and B they don't know what they are doing and then the paranoid patient said yes the kids do know what they are doing because they will be with their parents who don't give a rats *** about the mentally ill and Ron said yes they do but I understand your worries but I think that is no reason to not put the fireworks on the tv tonight, so enjoy your lunch and then Ron went to his office to think about how to break the tv for fireworks to the nurses and after 5 hours he went to give the patients dinner and medication and then after dinner they designed happy new year posters and then at 8-30 Ron went home to have dinner preparing to come back at 11-30 to watch the fireworks
And wish his patients a very happy new year and then Ron slept from 9-30 till 10-45 and he ran down and got in his car and went to the psych ward 1 minutes late and at midnight
They yelled HAPPY NEW YEAR
And Ron without the telling the patients Ron went to the pub seeing he had New Year's Day off and he got wasted and slept in front of YouTube watching the fireworks from all over the world
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 5:51 AM UTC
what are you addicted to?
What you on?
Oxycoton?
Percoset?
Methadone?
Vicodin?
****
Xanax
Diesel
Dope?
Krocodil?
or...
Just jack and ****
they tell me *** is dangerous...
I have nothing today
and so much things to say
Did your best friend get shot 72 times on
Thursday?
On the woodpile
or
In the passenger seat?
Wife take everything
And leave you
After 30 years?
You homeless now?
Or just broke-in.
Did Your wife die:
An intentional dose of an incidentally fatal
Dope?
Did you husband-
An engineer for Ford Motor company
Get burned alive?
black
Was it you
who
found the ashes?
Did they throw you in prison
For your depression?
You have addictions
And a little help
But no music-
Ipods
are not allowed here
and
You are grasping at existence but
existance
don't seem to know you
no-more
Your still breathing
Though
You haven't failed at existence itself
yet
Impulsive
destructive
What chemicals are they feeding you
In your cages?
T.T. has 17
medications but
she almost got killed last night
Because she's allergic
to aspirin.
Are they treating you with
Risperdal?
Or
Lamictal like me?
Is it helping-
or making it ten times worse?
making
any difference at all?
It's called practice and we are
the test-tube
Jon's heart has been in defib 8-times
twice due to accidental overdoses
by doctors
We can have too-many
anything.
I don't believe in accidents
though
no more.
seen-too many
felt-too much
You self-admitted and
at least your still breathing
this place is full of madness but here at 1-east
we're still dreaming.
pax 2013
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC