"methadone" poems
whenever i swallowed that pill
i knew what was coming
nothing
no smile
no frown
nothing but a heavy coat
on me all day
covering everything
everything about me
i can't emphasize
NOTHING
enough
numbness
it is better to feel sadness, madness
than nothing at all
please parents, just let me free fall
i cannot be this nothingness ghost
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 2:01 AM UTC
Mixing your whisky breath,
your unshaven cheeks,
your liquored-down smile
in an orange bottle labeled B.
WITHDRAWAL withdrawal withdrawal
Advice from a man with unshaven cheeks, a ring around his eye, and a cross near his breast.
*Withdrawal from him, be careful, withdrawal from him you’ll see.*
Clenched fists and a bouncing ball of hair, tied, atop my head
Sundays are slow, a holy ****** awaits.
They teach we aren’t supposed to be here.
They teach this is not home.
Everyone is temporary, and
the concept of forever: my methadone.
But he’s only a pain reliever, you see.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 10:28 PM UTC
Brackets
Your mum picked you up in daddy’s BMW,
we had to wait an hour while they scrubbed the brains of another son off the roof of the 125
(Why they built a multi storey car park on top of the bus station is a mystery to me.)
You carefully colour coordinated your files and scrutinized your revision schedules,
we watched nicked CCTV footage of two blokes smoking crack and burning down the bowling pavilion next door
(the old boys never did raise enough to repair it.)
You snubbed each other because of different tastes in jumpers,
we watched acid casualties talk politics with football hooligans
(a hastily rolled joint bridged the obvious gap.)
You lounged in the common room in your study periods,
our lesson got cancelled because John had been smashed in the face with a fire extinguisher
(and our tutor used to be a lifeguard.)
You worried about fashion and discussed the injustice of last night’s X Factor result,
we watched Neil’s head crash into his keyboard after he’d scoffed all his methadone in one go
(again.)
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
**Yo! Yo! My Drug of Choice **** Poets)**
Yo! Yo!
Member of the troupe?
You up all nite?
You always hungry,
Making trouble, rite?
You one of those?
**** poets!
Exist on strict diet?
Pleasured-pain,
Constant-continual surges
Turn into urges,
Full-time suspense,
Juices always flowing.
**** Poets!
Yo! Yo!
You one of those?
Never knowing,
What? When?
The eyes gonna invert
Retina images into words
Brain signaling, semaphoring the fingers
Yo! Yo!
You don't get nine months,
Maybe nine seconds,
Then mother-birth another verse,
****** poets!
Yo! Yo!
Remember your first real high,
That moment
No absolution, no return.
That moment
When you admitted, confessed,
to yourself:
*I am
Forever forward,
A home-grown poet.
I am
Soul enslaved to words.
The alphabet - My oxygen molecules,
I am both,
Addict and dealer
A ****** poet*
Yo! Yo!
So you do recall,
The exact moment,
God-spark-within, ascendancy gained
You lost control,
Wept words instead of tears!
A ****** poet ******
Yo! Yo!
Sophie's Choice.
You chose writing over breathing,
Worshiper of the purest pleaure,
******* in deep the smoke-high of
Head-nodding discontented contentment
Stealing anything you saw
For to satisfy the need, the craven
Craving.
****** poets!
Yo! Yo!
Don't you're ever sleep?
Hear that the city, the state,
Gonna methadone your kind
In a special program
Teach you only language to sign.
**** poets!
**I am a ****** poet.**
*The first step taken.
Admission.
Poetry is my default rest position,*
My drug of choice.
5:07am
June 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 5:12 AM UTC
Sign here and,here
Authorized personnel only
Exit…
A sign of distress on his face
The normal signs of distress?
No. Signal the white flag high
Suboxone and methadone
Romney and Ryan
The county fairgrounds…
“Lookout for that fox!”
DUI you cant afford it
DUI CRACK you cant afford it
Hand signals communicate
UFO Conference?
No SIGNS of UFO’s tonight
“Where’s your sign?”
What would my sign look like?
Winding road, next 4 miles
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 11:18 PM 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
Silent and the silence...
Screams at four in the morning...many times it's at three in the morning...
They got punked for their crack, coke, ****** maybe it was pills...
They fight the good fight over there...soldiers in deserts of war...
Yet here in my community I see the dealers and the ******
I am sorry for that word, excuse me...I never made it up...
In Swansea City they fill the needles with puddle water...
I have heard they do that here...
She never planned on being a *****
Turned to the dope...thought it would heal the sore...
My friend went to get himself put on the liquid handcuffs...
That's what the junkies call methadone...
I sat in the waiting room and watched them enter...
Some brought their children
One chap was with his dad...
They are looked the same
Trying to relieve themselves of sadness and pain
Have hope, sweet child...mommy is here
Have hope, dear reader...because not all will succumb to their fears
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 2:26 PM UTC
As I remember her now
It seems so long ago
We were both so **** young
How could I know
That she was the beast
Yet she was beauty too
Cast her black spell
What the **** could I do?
She brought me out of the rain
Made me her brand new toy
Tryin to **** off her dad
With her ****** boy
I'm not sure what she saw
When she was lookin at me
Whatever it was
Was just fantasy
I was real and broken
On the edge and alone
She was lookin for trouble
That's how I was known
She was bored with her life
I was scared of my own
Tryin to clean up
On that red methadone
She kept me in wine
She kept me in dope
She let me inside
Filled my problems with hope
Then she begged for my flaws
I finally caved in
We were playing a game
That I knew you cant win
Right then our sun set
Nevermore to return
Just the sparkle and fade
Of the needles cold burn
By the time that she saw
This game was her life
There was no road back home
The truth cut like a knife
Which she then pulled on me
As the pain became real
Now she needed the drugs
Or thats all she could feel
She needed me too
Like 'dope man' needs a gun
So she crippled my will
To make sure I don't run
She tortured my heart
Cuz she'd cut out her own
Still she didn't want me
Just to be not alone
Stockholm syndrome ain't love
But the poison was strong
We were both so **** scared
Held hostage too long
Now I wish I could say
That the moral is clear
I only feel mad
I believed my own fear
Learned a lot about life
What not to do
Never thought I would live
Somehow made it through
It takes two to dance
Two to give a lie power
Two to make a heart break
Two to turn a love sour
I want to believe
Our intentions were pure
The world drenched in filth
Victimized me and her
Regrets pile up
Resentment runs deep
While I look back and wish
Your heart I could keep
Mines tattered and torn
I know yours is too
Sometimes when I can't sleep
I still think about you
Cast blame all you want
It may even be true
But please stop hating me
Forgive yourself too.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 12:00 AM UTC
she was hooked on drugs part of her life
but has a son to help her fight
in life we never know the road we may take
but changing the course is never too late.
he had taken the same road as she
main lining and pills was all he could see
addiction is a hard price to pay
but something happened that changed his way.
I know the lifestyle all too well
for ten years my brother was addicted and went thru hell
then he had become drug free
and a drug councilor he would be.
he had gotten many on methadone
and good results it had shown.
now as you go through the withdrawal pain
think of how much you have to gain
withdrawal is not an easy task
do you want your life back? you must ask!
do you recall the birth pains that you went thru
and his life was fresh and new.
wasn't all that pain worth your while
that you had such a beautiful child.
there is no pain that you can go thru
than the pains that a mother knew.
you have to be willing to make the change
otherwise your life will stay the same.
these words are from a concerned son
the choices you've made can be undone.
(1/30/13)
louis rams :
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
Words are still written
Quietly posted online
So people may read
Comments are still posted
Words are carefully chosen
So no one gets hurt
Rush is still remembered
Mind is yearning for a real fix
Not methadone worlds
I am still addicted
Methadone keeps me in check
It will not cure me
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 12:59 PM UTC
Get me the telephone..
I need the fix in a voice like I once needed methadone..
..I hate being alone.
Get me the words in a book..
Give me a look at these things that are living.
Give me some giving.
Sometimes, late at night..when there's nothing around..the world's without sound..and I sit in the chair..
..it's like I'm not really there..
...like I've moved out in time..and I'm in a space that's not mine..and these moments go on..like the words in a song they run slow through the night where I'm sat in the chair and thinking I might not be here.
Fear is a part of it..a big piece of the start of it and Lord knows I'm not brave..I'm not the hero who could confront a dragon and save a maiden from death..I have to save up to save for my next breath but that's cool.
I see the face of the coward in the reflections of a fool..in a rockpool by the beach..and I'm still out of reach as I sit in the chair..
Not here or not there the chair is in nowhere..and as I ponder on this..
I think of a kiss that I stole long ago..In the old railway shed where the older girl led me and fed me her lips.
I can feel my mind slipping away..late at night as I wait for the forthcoming day..it's okay.
Sat in my chair I just go with the flow, wherever it is that my minds wants to go..
I go too.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 9:06 AM UTC
Oh joy to me,
I have awakened
It seems the night has left my skin dry,
And my beautiful dreams lost to
The methadone sky
My chin stubbled, lips cracked
I try to remember,
Reach for my dream
It disappears into nothingness
The mangled battlefields of mine
How I need to remember
That methadone sky
Oh joy to me,
She has awakened
It seems the night has left her skin moist,
And her beautiful dreams lost to
The methadone sky
Her cheeks cut, lips scabbed
I try to make her,
Reach for our dreams
They disappear into nothingness
The mangled battlefields of time
Oh how she needs to remember
That methadone sky
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC
in the trees lies a dream
in the breeze
of a melody.
i wait in the chair
stare off the balcony
rhythm of a
different kin
****** to the floor
a boat. with blues
my toes float,
not to listen,
this is a joke.
sideways death throne
cousins eats scones
floats in methadone --
I can dream in a mumble,
I’m holy in the jungle
but won't jump off
the angry totem scheme,
til the sound goes soft.
i can’t
hear her
scream.
im runnin away
im holdin this canyon
in my hand,
one more tonight
hop over the
fire,
escape
plan
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 10:18 PM UTC
Do I give your skin and bones
a strange sensation
like you do to mine?
They quiver and pulse
without actually doing so,
my emotions have turned physical
and I have no control.
When I want you, I need you,
or else my skin trembles with sadness
and misses your touch
and the tremors in my hands and fingertips
become too much for me to handle
I am a former addict,
and you are my methadone
but why do we treat chemical dependency,
with just another chemical?
You're the smoke in my lungs,
the blade to my skin,
and the birds and the bees
when I crave such sins.
My newfound addiction,
the worst of them all
with no self infliction,
I have no control.
Even with you,
I'm not whole,
because besides my ripe age
and my tender skin
I am only a product of my sins,
my lost innocence,
and this strange sense of loneliness.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
my codpiece has mobbed the boundaries of good taste
and pickled the tail on the mule of my magnificent waste
and i've coughed up a dime of your tripe in my damage
so leave me the methadone and please please please
manage.
here. hand This to your ludicrous drool.
pool the view from your ***
into the solid miasma
of your shameful
truth.
give back the cancerous hustle
of our demented clutch !
and much be the flowers
that curse
you
for lying, waaaaaaay to ******* much.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
I’m the Red Velvet Devil camouflaged in a plastic cup
I don’t have you yet, Aah, but the hooks aren’t set
I’m cheaper than “junk” and it’s only thirteen bucks
Just give me a month and I’ll be all you have
Ooh, I got you now; you feel my cold fingers in your back
I’ve only just begun to rip your soul out – intact
It’s been one year and you are my infernal *****
I've eaten your smile, your kids, your girl, money and more
You’re a shadow of your walking skin suit and you’re not aware
That my barbed noose tightens every time you try to care
You no longer laugh as I grin back from my deep dark pit
Why don’t you die, Scott? It’s so much better than what you’ve got
Year number three and all you have is enemies
No one believes you and they certainly don’t care
Your whole life is a lie; your spine is a broken bone
I’m the Red Velvet Devil they call methadone
You’re my pitiful meat puppet and you no longer care
I’m so achingly happy; my cloven hooves click the air
My grip attached at your spine, with my rotting kiss you crumble inside
You don’t have anything, so get the gun or razor; I want to see you die
It’s the fourth and final year, I watch you as my demons near
They writhe and snap their hungry jaws and you cop your nod – insincere
Your pulse beats to my oily black heart inside
You’re a sorry, cheap trick that I’ve ***** many times
I see you stumble and cry as you rot inside- why?
You should be grateful; I’m the reason you dine with swine
“The sow is mine!” I rage to your empty God
The end is near so all you hear is the demons flaying you alive
No breath in your lungs, or blood in your heart
You’re numb as an ice storm as I’m tearing you apart
Your life is a lie; your spine is a broken bone
It’s sooo nice to meet you; I’m the Red Velvet Devil they call methadone
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 8:50 AM UTC
Sun begins its rise, taking baton from setting moon
Freak closes curtain, sealing darkness within his room
Compulsive habits draw and push, metering this tune
Addict sees the devil, meandering wide labyrinth
Drunkard finds green fairy within precious Absinthe
Religious zeal is just a steal from place called Nazareth
Judging from the junkies, who line up on the street
Methadone clinics make perfect meet and greet
Cops are robbers, faking stats, keeping rule of their own beat
Faithful followers of god-pill-poppers do it just the same
All the people seeking steeples, much, much the same
When will devotee know a drug by any godly name?
It all goes round and in this town, martyrs everywhere
Adhering doom upon a tomb, getting closer there
What we don’t know is soon to show a resemblance of somewhere
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC
100 milligrams of flexeril
to relax my beating heart
until the muscle stops
flexing
beating
pumping.
100 milligrams of restoril
and maybe
finally
i can sleep.
maybe
i can finally sleep.
waking up has become such a chore
such an unpleasant experience
and if this doesn't stop it,
nothing will.
flexeril and restoril
and 45 milligrams
of methadone
because all i could score
was four and a half pills.
30 milligrams of phenagren
just to make sure
i can keep it all down.
i heard you could use
dramamine
but hey,
who wants to risk it?
i've taken my last chance.
15 milligrams of xanax
and if i can make it
for another hour or so
i won't even remember
what i've done.
this will end with a clean slate,
me on the floor
*******
saying mother,
mother,
what the **** did i do?
if i can speak at all.
290 milligrams
to prove
this is not
a cry for help.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 1:30 PM UTC
35,088 feet over Nebraska,
(Nebraska-imagining me climbing a ladder, me upwards, Jacob’s angels coming down, off to a high school All Saints wrestling match in a cornfield town)
a place not on my bucket list, just a blue bias of an eastern stater’s unknowns, a sure sign of how much he doesn’t know
reading Patti’s slender volume “Devotion”
slender like her body, some would call it a wiry woman's
sparse but directed, connective, word-worshipping,
old familiar strangers she delivers to you that you have never met, her phraseology striking me and strikingly beautiful simultaneous
scan it and understanding instantaneous
she asking,
why do we write?
her answers are fine copper wire threaded
into a coil and I close it quick cause the loving ****** desire to
plagiarize such an oddly gorgeous offerings is overwhelming;
I feel the wire words piercing my temple, intending to
emerge out the other side, a decorative symmetry,
I don’t own
my need to script some cursive on my smooth body parts,
on my god-given papyrus, always at the ready,
is a methadone itch, a dulling urge needy for fulfillment,
that needs satisfying but me, soundly second rate,
write like the flip side of a hit vinyl record, no one is expected to play, fulfillment meets futility
thus the title is a modification of a Patti light touch
my alchemy never made any gold and my present presence now over Iowa a reminder that my prescriptions are 1200 evacuations; they are negative commandments,
proscriptions, not prescriptions
do not write, do not wrong words with a middling diffidence,
hide your face and put her words on a shelf above your head
hard to reach, so you do not be tempted
why do we write?
“All seeking an emptiness to imbue with words.
The words that will penetrate ******
territory, crack unclaimed
combinations, articulate the infinite.” Patti Smith
disambiguation she relieves us of uncertainty
my combinations over Waterloo, Illinois
are ordinary smokestack gray, a spewing wastage,
the angels conforming that my words Cain-fail,
my confession
meets no one’s standards, not even mine
7:07pm Central Time
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 8:47 PM UTC
twenteesventh.
you write of dismembered leaves,
enhaloed lust(wtf)
pains too sweet because they’re youthfully incomplete,
using incontrovertible idiocies like
dry rain droplets shining like sunlight,
edible goodbye cheerios,
edible didactics, teaching “frosted flakys”
poetic methadone methodology,
poems hats with rhyming lyrics
that taste like that burnt eyelids colored
a blood stained mustard yellow, (yum),
beyond burger veggie based satyrs,
the happy gladness of sadness,
reversible rivers flowing heavenwards,
***** ******* you want an
infernal cataclysm...
really?
dechambered hearts, ventricular mysteries,
brains wearing wooly sport jacket helmets
and other Olsonian beauties,
like I write with succinct passion,
me, who gets eaten alive by buggers saying
“too long,” “too long,” “needed a mid-poem napt”
non-lexical non-commonsensical ecumenical hysterical
chemical verbal reactionaries
and then you wonder why
PEOPLE ******* HATE POETRY?
jes kiddin’ a leetle
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 3:48 PM UTC
Driving through Kentucky.
Fields fragrant with summer flowers,
spring fast approaching.
En-route to meet the boys of previous
summers lounging in London streets, fields, and serpentine parks,
And, stairs leading down to unwelcoming basements; as is the British way.
Malls of America now act as labyrinths.
Where the hell can I park my car?
Again, I ask, where the **** can I park my car?
I don’t care.
I just won’t park my ******* car,
in this god-forsaken middle of the western U.S.
Louisville, better yet, Hicksville.
I pop another Vicodin to get rid of this ill,
Surviving bit by bit but drained incessantly until,
I am no longer near fill, in spirit or in gasoline, tangible but also metaphysical.
Someone plunge into my depressed psyche and drill, drill,
DRILL!
Hey waitress of my mind, may I please request the bill?
With a pocket full of Xanax and a duffel bag of boomers,
my pockets jingle, (click-clack) as the pills bounce around with
every step, treating addiction with more drugs appears
to be the current stance of the know nothing doctors across this greatest nation on God’s green earth.
Hey babe, “want to walk with me to the methadone clinic,”
It’s rainy out, cold rain, can you carry my umbrella?
I can’t miss my dose or I’ll get sick.
So again I ask
Babe?
Walk with me to the methadone clinic?
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 6:13 PM UTC
I’m the Red Velvet Devil camouflaged in a plastic cup
I don’t have you yet, Aah, but the hooks aren’t set
I’m cheaper than “junk” and it’s only thirteen bucks
Just give me a month and I’ll be all you have
Ooh, I got you now; you feel my cold fingers in your back
I’ve only just begun to rip your soul out – intact
It’s been one year and you are my infernal *****
I've eaten your smile, your kids, your girl, money and more
You’re a shadow of your walking skin suit and you’re not aware
That my barbed noose tightens every time you try to care
You no longer laugh as I grin back from my deep dark pit
Why don’t you die, Scott? It’s so much better than what you’ve got
Year number three and all you have is enemies
No one believes you and they certainly don’t care
Your whole life is a lie; your spine is a broken bone
I’m the Red Velvet Devil they call methadone
You’re my pitiful meat puppet and you no longer care
I’m so achingly happy; my cloven hooves click the air
My grip attached at your spine, with my rotting kiss you crumble inside
You don’t have anything, so get the gun or razor; I want to see you die
It’s the fourth and final year, I watch you as my demons near
They writhe and snap their hungry jaws and you cop your nod – insincere
Your pulse beats to my oily black heart inside
You’re a sorry, cheap trick that I’ve ***** many times
I see you stumble and cry as you rot inside- why?
You should be grateful; I’m the reason you dine with swine
“The sow is mine!” I rage to your empty God
The end is near so all you hear is the demons flaying you alive
No breath in your lungs, or blood in your heart
You’re numb as an ice storm as I’m tearing you apart
Your life is a lie; your spine is a broken bone
It’s sooo nice to meet you; I’m the Red Velvet Devil they call methadone
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 7:22 AM UTC
**Yo! Yo! My Drug of Choice **** Poets)**
Yo! Yo!
Member of the troupe?
You up all nite?
You always hungry,
Making trouble, rite?
You one of those?
**** poets!
Exist on strict diet?
Pleasured-pain,
Constant-continual surges
Turn into urges,
Full-time suspense,
Juices always flowing.
**** Poets!
Yo! Yo!
You one of those?
Never knowing,
What? When?
The eyes gonna invert
Retina images into words
Brain signaling, semaphoring the fingers
Yo! Yo!
You don't get nine months,
Maybe nine seconds,
Then mother-birth another verse,
****** poets!
Yo! Yo!
Remember your first real high,
That moment
No absolution, no return.
That moment
When you admitted, confessed,
to yourself:
I am
Forever forward,
A home-grown poet.
I am
Soul enslaved to words.
The alphabet - My oxygen molecules,
I am both,
Addict and dealer
A ****** poet
Yo! Yo!
So you do recall,
The exact moment,
God-spark-within, ascendancy gained
You lost control,
Wept words instead of tears!
A ****** poet ******
Yo! Yo!
Sophie's Choice.
You chose writing over breathing,
Worshiper of the purest pleaure,
******* in deep the smoke-high of
Head-nodding discontented contentment
Stealing anything you saw
For to satisfy the need, the craven
Craving.
****** poets!
Yo! Yo!
Don't you're ever sleep?
Hear that the city, the state,
Gonna methadone your kind
In a special program
Teach you only language to sign.
**** poets!
I am a ****** poet.
The first step taken.
Admission.
Poetry is my default rest position,
My drug of choice.
5:07am
June 12, 2013
PostScript:
cherish these flawed ones,
gentle these frail but gritty,
the Lord has tasked them
to be prophets in one tongue untied,
undo the strife of Babel's division.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
There is no one in this world who will ever understand me like you,
no one has ever tried to make me love myself more than you have.
I am happy that you are happy, more happy than you about most likely to be honest.
It has been awhile since we have been around each other,
you have been mad at me.
I would have been mad at me too,
you love me and I wasn't loving myself.
I was angry too a bit,
cause I felt really, really alone.
It hurts so bad sometimes you know.
To sit there thinking about how little you matter to anyone.
Yesterday though, when you sent me that message.
I was ready to just disappear.
I have been here fighting so hard to get myself back.
I fought through the withdrawals of ****** and methadone
totally on my own.
It was hell and I fought it by myself and for the first time in a long time.
I won a fight, I was proud of myself.
No one noticed though,
Which is fine, I didn't need anyone too.
I just wanted to matter to someone,
I didn't have anyone and I hurt so badly I just didn't know what to do.
I hurt about a boy who has already moved on as I am still here staring at my phone
hoping he was gonna call.
I am living at my moms, the house I grew up in and I feel like I am so unwanted
in my own home.
I was ready to give up for good, to just disappear into the night.
It is hard when no one never sees the good in you anymore,
when they just think these horrible things about you.
Cause you broke when your life flipped upside down.
I handled it poorly but it didn't change me,
I was gonna just slip away with no one noticing.
Then you messaged me to tell you were getting married,
I mattered.
I am so happy for you, and I promise I wont miss this one for the world.
I am even happier though, that you thought about me in those moments,
cause you sent me a message to tell your news,
I knew I wasn't alone,
I knew I mattered to you,
and you matter to me too.
Yesterday, today, tomorrow and forever.
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 9:29 PM UTC
This is my secret confession
Where I lived a life of deception
Blinded as I was I chose not to see
That all I was courting was just pure controversy
You see I thought that I could juggle both fire and ice
When all I was balancing were just lies
They say I can't have my cake and eat it too
Greedy as I was I chose not to listen even if it was true
In the end I juggled both up high into the sky
Where they disappeared without a goodbye
Now I sit here all alone
All alone with my bag of methadone
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 6:50 AM UTC