"opiates" poems
A N D
Nothing
Determined
Her value more
Than an injection-
Of opiates...
In binary form.
It was a sad day for that lonely narcissist
When her battery decided....
To toil no more.
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 2:10 PM UTC
Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?
You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns
And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.
A mouth just bloodied.
Little ****** skirts!
There are fumes I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?
If I could bleed, or sleep! -
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!
Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.
But colorless. Colorless.
15.5k
Don’t you hate it when you sleep for eight hours
and still can’t get out of bed.
still tired and wanting to sink in that bed.
yet others live off two or three hours of sleep
and feel fine the next day.
In the factory I was working beside
a guy who said he had a great sleep yet
couldn’t stop passing out on the line.
he told me years ago he almost died right here
from OD’ing on opiates.
Now he was dying right in front of me from tiredness.
I had two hours of sleep.
felt alright.
Soon got a headache, and the black under my eyes was still there
but I was feeling alright.
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
Alcohol, marijuana, and opiates just weren't enough,
I had to breathe deeply and slowly and snort some white dust.
Boy, that did it; rubbed clean my brain, got rid of that rust.
Cause it's get high or bust
and alcohol, marijuana, and opiates just weren't enough.
Now I'm wondering what's left;
a broken promise or three,
I'm sorry I didn't mean it,
but I meant it at the time.
I'm trying my best but I really need some rest.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
Land of the free
words fed intravenuously
like opiates into opened veins
until the lies they tell us become truth
Propaganda filled drips
drown out the screams of the innocent
killed by fear and misdirected hatred
and soldiers fighting "wars" on terror
How then does the aggressor become hero?
while handing out oppression labelled as democracy
liberty comes encased in the shell of a bullet
and if you resist.........freedom
comes quicker than you wish*
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
I'm numb so numb and I would like to ask you something
Can you please..
**** the pain out of me , fill me with pills so i can stay numb forever
Fill me with opiates and watch me die inside
Don't worry i will feel no pain
Look at me in my eyes and tell me you love me then leave me
So i can feel pain again
Then fill me with benzos make me dreamy and love my life
So you can hurt me again
Choke me hurt me and belittle me
Make me walk around with bruises
Heal my wounds , buy me pills
opiates , oplïods and benzos
Make me happy for a week or less
then leave me behind wondering why you left me
so i will feel pain and then I need to crawl back to pills
or to you
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 7:06 AM UTC
Confessions of a Blessed Hedonist.( tri word line)
-1- -3-
Lived this long, what makes change?
Time just flew, a metamorphosis divine?
Mind playing games worms to butterflies,
Heart desiring ever. saviors, angels, messiahs?
extreme cravings doused. what makes humane,
opiates in zillions, friends, lovers, brothers?
Cocktails, a million. Destinies unknown working,
Endless revelries futile, in times unconscious,
Loves instant, genuine. drunken slumbers dead,
Clean beds crumpled, uncaring deeds cruel,
Checkouts late rewarded. Unmanly acts shameful.
-2- -4-
Friends dear betrayed, maybe one dream,
Away bartered loves. among nightmares plenty,
Much monies made, that one love-germ,
Abandoned ethics many. under in-differences heaped,
Gods all rejected, faint glimmering self,
Except the Hedonistic! beneath mountainous egos,
World enjoyed fully, a sparkling life-sign,
Life wasted lovely. in cemeteries silent.
Morphing every second, causes matter not,
Into grandiose nothing, by destiny’s graces,
Skeleton cynical final. gratefully unscathed still.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 12:42 AM UTC
lying for freedom
is it acceptable to walk
my bare feet across the floor
is it acceptable to walk
my bare self up to you?
my pathetic mortality
etched into every groove of
my delicately built body
opiates dance around
my mind
take take take
choose your ****** I choose bare hands
on chests and
violin strings
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
Sea serpents still smash ships
In the dark seas of my subconscious,
Devilish legends roam
Giggling, chainsaw wielding
Masked maniacs are at home
Hunting and being hunted
By whip wielding antiheroes
With black leather biker outfits, with the right sleeve missing
The theater of my Id charges a penny admission
Sold my soul for a remote control
My mind ruled by visual opiates
Of violence and flesh
Creative outlets come
In sporadic outbursts
That ****** your imagination,
What some men call horror
I call liberation.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 7:21 AM UTC
The Sukhumvit Rap
by David John Clare
Boom boom bah smoke yaba bah bah bah boom!
Boom boom bah smoke yaba bah bah bah boom!
Well, she come in to Na Na town on dah midnight sky train, anonymous esan girl she a mysterious Bangkok dame
Out of the nite shadows she will walk and magically appear, I'm telling you fresh forang you got some awful things to fear right here
She can slave your mind in a minute without talk so lyrical, she's a modern Thai freak, a ****** miracle
First She opiates his mind then double you'll see
will loose all sense of time and then the trouble will be
She knows what she is doing, her instincts are cold Forang men they surrender and just do what they are told
Beyond the like of a dibbie girl as you are a sucker for her date
she will leave your mind and body in a wicked deadly state
A jealous girlfriend could now completes the scene as you walk back to your short time room near Pat Pong
soi cowboy libertine...
If you get near her you hear the voice of a Thai Siren
Don't you look at her don't you touch you'll start cryin'
If you dare embrace her fool you will think you found a rare Silom Road Jem or Jewel?
She can tear your heart out and she will do it with your own **** tool !
Tell The brothers not to look the wink of her eye, tell all of the brothers not to watch her WINK!
You can tell by her moves and the slit under her dress she is a one trick thai pony ahead of you by her breast
She got a photographic smile Greta garbo movie hair
She can tear any man down with that Siamese cat like looking stare...
Don't look into her eyes she'll control you blind
you want to wine and dine her? ha, it is your mind she will sixty nine
Shell try her best to allure you so now don't concede cuz if you touch her now boy your heart will bleed
It is a hell of way to take a Thailand vacation but remember this; there is no way of ever stopping this ****** man killer creation.
Tell The brothers not to watch the wink of her eye, tell all of the brothers not to watch her WINK!
Boom boom bah smoke yaba bah bah bah boom!
Boom boom bah smoke yaba bah bah bah boom!
WINK!
(c) 2010 Clairvoyant Music / BMI Los Angeles CA USA all rights in perpetuity by the author
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC
In the ***** fields the red plant glows
Shining bright row by rows
Highlighting our opiates blight
Soldier by soldier I save tonight
Ease their pain do it right
For they may stray towards the light
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 1:38 PM UTC
To…
My best friend and lover.
Protector of my lies
…You rescued me
And ****** me to my fate.
Spiralled the dopamine to brilliance
In my mind.
To spangled halls of light,
Reflective light, and calm.
A golden calm
Of energised, invincible intensity……
Addiction is thy name.
Compulsion is thy talent
Up, up the trammelled pathway
From the innocence of a ****
To the chaotic expense of ****
Then to the dreamy, smoked Opiates,
And the scars of the needles
And magic of Coke & big H ?
And ultimately…
It’s all not enough!
The hollow inadequacy of it all
When finally…..
Nothing,
Nothing achieves flight.
Nothing attains the heights.
Nothing satisfies
Like it used to…..
No amount of money
Buys satisfaction!
Hopelessly
Into the Black Hole.
Down, down the trammelled pathway
And the body is wasted, thin
And the mind in misery,
And broke, utterly penniless,
Exhausted and spent,
Estranged and abandoned,
Alone, so alone.
Down the trammelled pathway
To the inevitable retreat
Into failure’s squalid,
numbing, bitter
End.
M.
May 31 2014
From the outside looking in.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC
I met Sally on the hill with a nickel bag of ******
She didn't pay me in money.
Instead, information and a little persuasion made the baggie leave my right back pack pocket
***“Dollars could never have made sense of it anyway
We throw pennies away opting for the opulence that big bills entail
Retail will never amount to the amount I've blown on blow”***
Or so she said behind Louis Vuitton shades shielding eyes half dead
A ****** with a monkey on her back fed by a steady stream of opiates
***“I open this line of communication so you can see we lack foundation and stability and yet
We're trying to build a sand castle with all the powder we can possibly get
And if we're forced to forfeit that fortress, we snort more, still trying to forget”*** and with that she placed her sunglasses on top of her head
I stood back with my back pack and I finally understood
Why drugs will make you richer than working ever could
They bag a gram put it on the scale and tell you what it weighs
But they don't tell you how unnoticeable it is when your life slips away
We sell the dream, we sell the aesthetics
The drugs, the parties, the scene with guest lists
Invincibility
Pretty lights.
Fun. All a lie.
I almost fell on my face walking down the hill, staring into those blue eyes over my shoulder all the while.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 3:51 PM UTC
freckles clung
like manic-pixie stardust,
spackled whispers
an unfolding fractal
of brimming dresser drawers
old pictures and mix cds,
we could only ever do
what teenagers were supposed to.
smushed crabapple handholds,
moxy and sadism hard-won,
no crash course in platonicness,
our stained glass eroded
into a beach
frozen in unsummer,
opiates dull senses,
a synesthetic void
exchanging echoes of echoes,
a cacophony of empty
distilling as it leaves
in whisks of 2 a.m.s,
honey-laced whiskey,
if the sky murmurs one
last love poem, it isn't
to us but our
moment of infinity,
of blind faith
irredeemably lost,
that forever of apex
where the line between
falling and flying
blurs.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
The air is as thick as the curls of your hair
The drink is as stale as the mid-winter air
The mistress and the man ascend up the stairs
The rest of them, so lifeless, so full of despair
Cluttered inside the corners of your mind
Trails of your self-medication are all you could find
Alcohol poisoning the natural opiates left behind
The rest of it, so scarce, so blurred, so blind
You tap your fingers to the tune of the song
You lift your drink up and back down where it belongs
Not another sip, the inevitable you mustn't prolong
Drinking away your problems only works for so long
Another sad stare from the bartender that tends to wink
Another empty glass to clatter on the table when you finally drink
Six more years of crawling into debt with the inability to think
Drowsy eyes, bloodshot, still dry when you blink
Stagnant dreams rest under your pillow at night
While dizzy spells depress your enthusiasm as it ignites
The life you live is a life lived in spite
Regrets hanging on the curtain of your shower, revenge leaking from every reaction site
Three more weeks and it'll be over soon enough
Take the pills with a glass of whiskey and call your own bluff
You'll rest beside him and all of his stuff
Douse it in alcohol, light a match, you are tough
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
My bones are shattered porcelains
And Dr Frankenstein is recreating
My body from the toes up
I have more screws than tarsals
More plates than fibulas
More scars than cracked paint on derelict homes
Greens, yellows, blues, blacks and purple
Dye my leg in splendid hues
Plaster decorates my toes and pokes under my knees
Pins and needles tingle constantly
But these are made of steel as well as
Peripheral neuropathy
My hospital discharge form
Reads like poetry
Displaced tibea
Goes on adventure and brings back
Swollen instead of souvenirs
And crushed ligaments as testament
To broken steps they have fallen on
Perhaps it is not as profound as sunsets or romance
But I am finding beauty in pain
Intricacies in injury
And the limits of my creativity
To distract from nightmares
Of how this happened
And to drown out the hungry goblins
Deep in my guts demanding opiates
Like drunken teenagers
They loot my stash and trash my viscera
Legal or not I'm still a ******
Writing poetry rather than sleeping-
Confronting demons with stanzas.
Over screams I am armed with the arsenals
Of metaphor, personification and symbolism
Whatever the pain, my posse of poetry and prose
Has always got my back
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
We can escape, now,
it's smoky with a chance of curtain drawn,
our minds won't tramsit light
from our empty, covered windo- the train is here.
I'm ready to go.
And though I'm leaving on a train
with room for only one,
I'm hoping you can catch a cheap ride
hidden in my pocket.
Nobody checks your person, anymore,
Nobody cares;
Homeland Security lovingly fed
us fattened falsities
As the fat cats in suburban alleyways
tore off the thickest
pieces of marrow from the national animal
of our Fiction States of America.
I have known this
because I have seen it from my seat
in coach,
thank god, too, because the train is packed.
So fill up
if you aren't going to hop in,
wishing to distort
your mind with all of their public drugs,
community opiates
transmitting across electrical wires hidden
in the ground,
the trees,
the air itself,
stitched into the layers of
dark matter and cosmic foam insulating
our fragile and overdone Universe.
I hear their static,
that pantomimed reality,
caught inside carbon fibers running through everything,
running through me,
running through you,
running into and out of your brain like
a thief without pause or moral.
We could run, too,
the heavy bass notes of the
nurturing ocean could shield the screech
of the battered train's wheels;
the wheels need a rest from screeching, anyway.
Quick!
While the conductor isn't looking!
The wires will tell him you're here
until you're gone,
hidden in my coat pocket
inside a layer of my inner smoke.
Well, if you insist,
I suppose you may leave,
but once the wound of knowledge opens,
just know it never closes.
It will fester and
prickle
with the fetid odor
of truths turned into lies.
I know I'm talking
to myself, now, but I don't
want to let you go,
though I'll stay here,
safe,
in the train carriage,
hidden in smoke.
Smoke,
smoke,
smoke,
the train heats up,
breaths out smoke from its burning
and throbbing pipe.
The engine has built up
an overdose of heat,
trying to throw off the weeds trying
to grow inside.
They tried to enter me,
and they will soon enter you,
now,
without my smoke to shroud you,
to leave your naked wound
easily hidden in
paranoid dreams.
Screeeeee,
screeeeeee,
screeeeeeee,
the wheels screech out,
ready to go,
ready to run,
to run down the track,
to run through all obstacles,
to run through everything,
to run through me,
to run through you,
to run in and out of your brain,
blown away in a puff of smoke,
my memory has burned away
and blows off as ash
and smoke.
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 7:32 PM UTC
I don't (love) (touch) (be with) you
You are (a terrible person) (boring).
I will heal with (time) (opiates) *** with others) and it'll be okay, really sir.
I hope (you die) (you go **** yourself) (be well) (think of me) (die in a fire).
You are boring.
G-o-o-d-b-y-e
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
broken glass embedded in backs
causing blood stains on crisp Calvin Klein shirts
from wrestling limbs on kitchen floors
licking ears as sassy retribution
for passive agression
and acts of contrition
greasy hair
unshaved legs
fur
on fur
mouth
on mouth
on moleskin
on holographic jewelry owned by us
bougie bohemians
highbrow artists
--with--
low-maintenance interests that include
blow, opiates, fringed scarves, "velvety",
all the pills you can fist into your mouth,
a wannabe lou reed, your friends' band,
and **** **** ****** **** gallery openings.
Take a picture, it won't last as long as this work day
but we have to have our money for the water--after the eight ball and taxi, of course.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 1:48 AM UTC
Live life to live
shape the world and cultivate
away fears of shadows and hate.
Grower's thumbs often build
greener tomorrows, tokes to give
to brothers and sisters of today
always searching for more questions.
What clarity can bring to one
not you, but for someone
who holds the rotten cape
held together by rough black tape
to the bewildered open fields
of opiates and grapes
waiting just enough time
to bend around the vine
that holds together what they are feeling.
Let the world keep spinning
wobble from time to time
stumble off our feet
no chance to meet or greet
the war is on our street
bringing lust greed and pride
for all of us to abide
but all things can be forgiven.
Feel the sunny heat
of the smiles of those you just beat
for all the people are here
lovers, plumbers, drummers,
and this goes on, we run again
on and on we run again
on and on again
we go on.
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 9:56 PM UTC
Your invisible me misses on my invisible you
I miss my invincible youth, I miss your unbelievable cool. I dance on a sky made of heavy metals and gray, I stare at the stars as I wish on them to take me away. As I lie and I wait in bed, thinking of all the dreams that’ve come and went, I’m weakened by a state of unease, the kind that makes a home in your heart then leaves.
Dozens of times I’ve stared off wondering, what would our lives have become? Soon I am trembling, cold sweat down my face, year after year until the panic has left me undone. Weakened by sorrow as it clung to my hide, just like your small hands huddled against me in the night. Fairly often it’s taken every ounce of my strength, even just to keep myself from running full steam back into bed. It’s as if I’ve covered my life with a dark crooked lie in a story that’s good for everybody except me. I’ve spent the last, as long as I can remember doing anything to stay on the move. Drank heartache, beat down sweat, found myself in a tango with the dust that makes men lose their mind. There isn’t any ole place where I haven’t tried to escape, only to find something too eager to plant her back deep in my thoughts supine. It’s been ages since I’ve smelled the sweetness and sweat, or tasted on the feeling of regret, every choice I chose was chosen as my first, I never flirted with the hurt until the fury of her awesome pleasure began to shrink out of my life. Nothingness intertwined, it bled into every orifice until I was blinded, my eyes covered and limbs behind me, counting the numbers of floods that swept me out of my room. Into the abyss of my abysmal dismissal, a candy of black cigarette tar, alcohol, and even opiates. Not one regret, just a cornucopia of upset, lost and still losing myself into every last bit of her I can hurl into my memory before it goes.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 2:27 AM UTC
i.
without words,
boy, caught up in the dark,
brown-eyed boy,
as night drifts,
dark in her clouds.
ii.
a tumbling
star,
leaden feet
sink to earth,
drowning stream...
poured from a water jug
a dark, crackling sky.
iii.
night's thick opiates
glaze,
unmissable sky
sinks anchor-like.
iv.
slumber-heavy,
dreams carried to the stars,
lost time
stretching like a cat.
v.
boy, sleep sound tonight,
brown-eyed boy,
as night drifts
dark in her clouds.
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 2:29 PM UTC
The fog shall not lift...sapphire, ruby,
emerald studded chimeras roam the
primordial soup.
The hysterical triad of a bleating goat,
lion's roar, dragon's inflamed screech.
The implacable lot of sublime vision...
reels the shadow of a halo.
The shadow of what's opaque...an
ominous drumbeat of the collective
unconscious.
Pagan hybrid...chimera--sulphurous
manacle of delirium, pomp and glory
of madness.
Releasing opiates within the plush
chambers of your Gaian skull.
Lunar stone's throw to quashing tides...
bone-fetching chimeras 'neath their
moonlit charge at flesh.
Chimeras, no mere inhabitants of an
exotic petting zoo...pattering the early
puddles which became The Face of the
Deep.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 10:52 AM UTC
. *and today's prime concern of the day? i can't access the recipe site for Australia's master-chef... maybe it's Australia, and their restrictions, or it's the ******* E.U... but... come to mind... last year i could access Eliza's triple-fried tamarind chicken... my god! they're going after restricting access to food recipes!*
could i ever think any woman as being, "ugly",
neglected, yes,
but... "ugly"?
please...
all manner of things become beautiful
around the mandible zenith upon
the grinding wheel of the big O...
nothing quiet like deathly screaming
in the hollow of the night,
but some drunkard loser -
speaking in tongues and recollecting
a myth of a patriarch
akin to Abraham...
'it's just the moon, you shit-face!'
'yeah, and my grandmother sees
a Herr Tvardovsky in it from
time to time, riding a ******* cockerel!'
which equates to a banality of
two things (well, three):
1. she shouldn't have been given
opiates during WWII to shut
the **** up, as a baby, so my great-grandparents
could hide in the Polish countryside,
i.e war zone....
2. i shouldn't be drinking and reading
religious text /
listening to Finnish folk songs...
3. about that Hollywood thing...
how movies are getting ******** and
******** by the day...
see... in philosophy there's this point,
not a Hegelian dialectic crap,
a Kantian coordinate,
a starting point,
zee: res per se...
a thing in itself...
blah blah... noumenon...
i hardly think t.v. shows will reach this
level of "self-consciousness"...
i.e. will be making t.v. shows about
making t.v. shows...
English soap opera tide barrier...
but movies have certainly turned
to focus on this, "vantage" point...
the disaster artist for starters...
birdman?
eh...
and like any cascade of falling
down from an airplane akin
to the opening image from
Salman Rushdie's the satanic verse...
mighty fine looking up
and cackling while flapping your hands
in imitation of a Canadian goose.
ha ha ha... ah... **** never gets old.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
Silver-tongued soothsayer
with a voice of gold but
breath like mercury,
sing me a future full of
blue nights
&
days that seem to always
sit at the horizon.
Feed me opiates through dreams,
through tubes
down the back of my throat,
where I turn them into
poisons for my body to feast on.
Force them into my genetic make-up;
let me replicate a beautiful nightmare
out of my marrow and exhale
careless sociopathic lies
to ******* strangers and
********* with first names
I don't need to remember.
Let me be Ohio's last astronaut;
my head is past clouds,
my body, beyond earth.
Sympathy will be reserved
for those who have lost
their hearts, their hope,
their homes, their minds,
their control,
their bodies,
their functions,
their...
Yes.
Their dreams.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 3:15 PM UTC