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Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
Sitting here, thinking about death, about which death to choose, about which passing of time to write about. I am sweating, like, hold your breath or die sweat. It is hot here, but it isn't the temperature that is making my glands leak, it is the memories, it is the death grip that takes my heart when i remember, when i write about life leaving, silence stealing from the night.

Heroine. She's a tuff-tender ***** with soft sleepy skin, the daughter of Morpheus, who takes your breath and holds it inside you. Somniferous, She likes to sit alongside you while you die, she holds your hand and whispers in your ear, allaying fear and slowly she wraps her fingers around your lungs. So tired, of this world, of this life; you think, i'll just close my eyes, nothing new about being on the nod, nothing strange about this tiredness that follows a quick projectile puke in the gutter.
Let sleeping dogs lie.

Writing about Overdosing. It is a strange thing, a quick story, one minute your blinking, nodding, often murmuring, then asleep.

Lucky the dog who runs in a pack.
Lucky the man who walks with strangers by his side.
I don't remember much of what happened before i closed my eyes.

A shot, pin ***** relief, then, quickly/slowly/gone. It is night out, with a dark and steady sky, I am watching the stars through slitted eyes and loving my life, loving my wife; ******, how she makes my heart sing. I am glad to be far from withdrawing, i am happy to be in sin with my lovers, stainless steel turemo picks.
It is my first blast for the night and apparently my last.
There is no warning, no red flag that appears in my minds eye. Just silence and a world fading away. A heartbeat disappearing. Short shallow breath and a small niggling concern that soon will come the time when i am not high then...

I am going. I am gone. I have died.

The strangest thing about dying is not dying. The hardest thing about it all is waking up and realising you were finally gone, you were finally done with the rigmorale, the procedure, of living, of life. You had reached the ultimate goodbye. And now you are back. Still high but not high enough to be faced with the living. Narcan gives your lungs back, it breathes back into you what She stole away. Wanting more then ever to ***** but not wanting to puke on the paramedics lap. Fear of police and reprisal, anxiety soars high on the agenda of the recently revived. A trip the hospital, a free ride, then signing out early, i have shots to blast, a past to wipe out, a life to live or die trying.
B Young Mar 2016
This will be just one more ****** love poem
to ***
to drugs
to rock n’ roll.

   You think you’re too young to die, huh?
well, everyday my facebook feed
fills with people who were
too young to die.
   Everyday people they loved post
on their walls, memories and pictures,
writing how their hearts ache at the passing
of one too young to die.
   People who the dead disliked or even hated
also post on their walls, RIP, sad to see you go,
etc. empty ******* like “only the good die young,”
please.
   I try to watch from afar, for if I get too close
I fear I am the next to go.
   You think it can never happen to you, until
you wake up in a hospital bed with an IV in your arm and
a head awhirl with Narcan.
   But still, it couldn’t happen to me, because
it’s happening to the people all around me.

The last girl I ****** off of Tinder
I stole thirty dollars from to buy
black tar ****** in Colorado
then saw a **** jam band
play their **** music,
it wasn’t rock n’ roll.

The last girl I had *** with
because I was in love with her
won’t hardly speak with me, anymore,
because ***
because drugs
because rock n’ roll
….That was like four years ago.

I miss the rock n’ roll in ***** Philly basements
that felt punk even when it was folk.
I miss doing drugs without ending up
homeless, broke, and emotionally destitute
immediately after.
I miss the *** that meant something,
but more so miss the idea of *** being related
to love, which was it ever even in the first place?
I don’t know.  
I like the tenants of pop punk music,
example: I like my friends, I remember that time you were drunk and spilled the apple juice in the hall, I like the ideal of that one girl all the Jesse Laceys of the world write about, most importantly I like the thought that none of this is really my fault…when it is.

I had a therapist, more than one, ask me
to write a break up letter to drugs,
I could never get very far with it
because drugs dumped me a long time ago
and had since moved on.
If I was honest I would write, “Take me
back, I can handle you again and
things can go back to how they
were when we first met.”
But, I know this can never be,
as drugs are busy seeing other people.

Do you remember the day the lightning bugs
began to disappear?
Now, in the stead of those tiny glowing insect dots
is only the sense of a faintly felt fear,
of growing old
and
losing our illusion of safety.
Bring back the insects,
bring back the
***
drugs
and
rock n’ roll
Blue R Lake Sep 2014
Rusted spoon on the palm.
Reused rig in a flexed bend.
Eyes sealed as the body rides the waves to numb.
Exploring in a black hole until the E.M.T.s Narcan the rested soul.
Awake to find friends crying as
Swin want answers, doctors question suicide and loved ones just want to know why.
Unofficial discharged on my Lambor-feeties
No shoes, no shirt and a ten dollar cab, get me back to my own hell.
Cedric McClester Feb 2016
By: Cedric McClester

Seems I’ve over dosed
On politics
And cable TV
Gives me my fix
I watch it for interest
As well as for kicks
When I know that all of ‘em
Are nothing but *****

I’ve listen to pundits
‘Til I’m blue in the face
When I should have ignored them
But in any case
I get a thrill from
Watching the race
And wondering who
Will come in in first place

It shouldn’t be hard
For anyone to understand
Why I’m in bad need
Of some Narcan
Cuz I’ve overdosed
More than most man
And when I started out
That wasn’t my plan

I’m in bad need
Of a rehab
But I’ve said no, no
Doggone it dag nab
So if I’m not careful
I’ll wind up on a slab
From ODing on someone’s
Gift of gab












Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016.  All rights reserved.
Amelia Aug 2017
for two years
every day had a purpose:
get more ******.
weeks became punctuated with
Narcan in mcdonalds bathrooms
and breaking your ribs
trying to make you breathe again-
when my hands come down on your chest
i go back to the seventh grade
someone is explaining that birds' bones are hollow because they were born to fly-

why is there such sick pleasure in this?
it was never as simple as wanting to get high-
first day: i can't think of the baby that died I need to get high
second day: I can't think about the boy that ***** me I need to get high
over and over and over
we would make love on the ******,
forgive our faults as soon as we found a vein
sharing a needle, you've been deeper inside of me than anyone-

i'm sober now. moved thirty miles north.
they took you away from me and the ******
my days aren't marked with purpose anymore
it's been fourteen days since I finally thought of the child I'm still scared to mourn
and the boy whose name I am too scared to whisper when I am alone

I have not left my house in fourteen days
and i can't breathe deeply;
I broke my rib on day one
Michael Marchese Nov 2019
Keep pushing the poison
To public consumption
Keep profiting off of
Disabling function
Of bodies succumbing
To numb effervescences
Wrapped in a blanket
Of bliss evanescences
Upping the dosages
Potencies hitting
Prescribed by the bought and sold
Doctors submitting
To fraudulent Pharma
Cartels cashin’ in
On the overdose ghosts
Of a future stolen
But why stop
When revival
Is one call away
And survival
Is free
For those willing to pay
For the privatized antidote
Prices arise
Just as quick as they fall
For the sweet street surprise
r Mar 3
I could
if I thought
it would
do any good
~ lay my head
on the temple steps
~ like an addict
getting a fix
by a fire-station
~ but I know that
there’s no
Narcan
for the soul
~ when it’s OD’d
and grown cold
and oh so old.
Mauren Sep 2019
I CAN'T TELL IF I'M MANIC OR DEPRESSED BECAUSE I WANT TO **** MYSELF TONIGHT

OR CURL UP ON THE FLOOR AND NEVER GET BACK UP AGAIN

OR DRIVE 108 MPH EXACTLY WHILE BLARING ALL THE SONGS YOU HATED HEARING FROM MY STEREO UPSTAIRS AND SCREAM AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS UNTIL MY THROAT IS SO RAW AND MY VOICE SO HOARSE YOU WON'T EVEN RECOGNIZE IT WHEN I'M BEGGING YOU TO COME BACK

****
BECAUSE NOTHING HURTS LIKE THIS DOES

THE SPLIT OPEN RIB CAGE IS ALMOST A COMFORT BECAUSE AT LEAST THEN I MIGHT BE ABLE TO STUFF THIS GAPING WHOLE IN MY CHEST

SIX SHOTS OF NARCAN AND SHAKING WITHDRAWS TASTES ALMOST AS SWEET AS THE SHOT THAT KILLED ME
or the shot that left me lying unconscious for three days while the cancer killed you..

OR WAS IT THE PILLS THAT FINALLY TOOK YOU FROM ME?
I GUESS I REALLY COULDN'T SAY SINCE I WAS NEVER THERE

i use to see you in my dreams, Ma
i use to remember the way your hair smelled

ISN'T IT ******* PATHETIC I WON'T EVEN GO TO THE SAME STORES NOW
TOO AFRAID OF RUNNING INTO YOUR GHOST
even though i swear i'm struggling trying to find a place where i can feel you

i use to remember the way your voice sounded
AND I HATE MYSELF FOR DELETING ALL THE VOICEMAILS YOU EVER LEFT ME
AND THE TEXTS THAT SAID YOU ONLY WANTED ME TO MAKE IT HOME

YOU NEVER ASKED ME FOR ANYTHING BUT TO KEEP YOUR BABY SAFE
AND AREN'T I SO SICK FOR BEING TOO SELFISH TO EVEN DO THAT

instead i sat next to your hospital bed
TOO HIGH TO STAND BY YOU ANYMORE

i can't tell which half of bipolar this is
because i want to **** myself tonight
and you're not even here

to stop me
M Elee Dec 2019
Eyes of blue
And skin of laurel
Serene indifference
Meaningless quarrel

Body still
But panic sober
A lifetime of stuck
And a lonesome October

A 911 call
And a lack of composure
An empty syringe
And a long for some closure

An absent friend
Giving a cold shoulder
An absent friend.
Wake up now, Laura
Nicholas Foster Mar 2017
I made my escape on that glorious day,
Seemed bleak at first but I made my way.
My suitcase was packed,
Riding the bus that would finally take me back.

Asking no one for favors, I embarked on this alone, yes, the ship sailed and the plane was flown.
To be far away from here, and all those near and dear, would grow to know loss like a common fear.

But my planet crashed, my ship sunk

I woke up.

Track marks scattered, floral robes tattered, Narcan kissed my vain, and became the pilot of that plane.

Oh to my dismay, in a room filled with fake smiles and "you're okay."
***** repair, blood pressure flair, on and on like a revolving door.

Ten thousand "sorry's", and a desperate party to see me sing and act.
With my IV leash, attached to a snarling beast, I gave them what they paid for.

So now I'm stuck where I started, wishing I departed, and made it all the way.
But I do how they do, and do what they say. Nothing is my own, not even the day.

My passion is gone, I exist without hope, I'm forced to breathe,and to shadow the pope.

You see, the pilot is to blame, he saved my body, but killed my heart with shame.

But I'll get my revenge, and I will live again, or save up for another ticket. But you will feel sorrow, for all of my gray tomorrow's pouring down from an endless spigot.

For you trapped me here, my exit was near, and freedom would have rang true. All that are dear, ridden with fear, and the one to blame is you.

Blame can run no where else, vindication sleeps in your bed, you played god and raised me from the dead.

You
made
me
live.
Pc Aug 2019
We grew up watching wrestling now they smoking dwayne Johnson
It’s Hard to kick a bad habit
they show no concern until it’s their son or daughter how tragic
Shouldve listened in health class kids
It gets sold like an auction
We Come from a place where they whip up (the rock )like Steve Austin
Narcan that man had a syringe in his arm still
Methadone clinic lines around the building
   Nobody getting better just given new prescriptions
Dream Fisher Feb 26
An older lady came to the pharmacy
To pick up her oxycodone twenties,
Her copay wasn't much money,
Double counted a hundred twenty
As close to me as you stand,
I explained her doctor prescribed Narcan.
In case of overdose, one spray up the nose
Can save yourself or someone else.
She twisted her face to me real funny,
And said "What do you take me for a druggie?"
She took the vial, left the spray
As I waved with a have a nice day.

She felt accused by me, in a huff,
Threw the pills up in her cabinet.
As fate would have it, her granddaughter
Came over and spotted the bottle with red cap.
Imagining the high if she could get that,
Imagining the euphoria as she stole that.
Sneaking off into the bathroom
Downing tap, she consumed a few.

Something wasn't right, her breath felt light,
Disoriented trying to read the label,
Hands shaking, feeling her body dive,
She saw the number twenty, thinking they were fives.
Unresponsive, her grandmother runs in
With the sound of a heavy crash,
She waits for paramedics who arrive at last.
Only to announce, nothing to be saved
Now she digs a grave for pride over a nasal spray.
Mauren May 29
I’m going to marry this girl one day, and here’s why

she has shown me that she’s not willing to back down from a fight
when things get tough she gets tougher and we deal
she pays attention to small details and works to show me every day that she thinks about me constantly and that this will never only be one sided
when I told her I was an addict she applauded my good days and she stood by me in my bad
and when I told her I was scared I’d relapse again she bought Narcan and stayed up to measure my breathing
I have never for a second had to doubt whether or not she would be there because she always is

And I will spend the rest of my life trying to show her that her love was not in vain
i'm breathing
in and out
out and in
in and out
I'm breathing to resuscitate my lungs
i just came from a date with a panic attack
we freaked out together and
flashed back to good ol'
narcan time.
breathing is hard.
but this is a new time
a new start
to see how long i can go

— The End —