"oxycontin" poems
sometimes I don't like being a loner
but I guess its better than being a stoner
I am caught in mellow drama
kids these days hooked on marijuana
I will not smoke *** with you
but I will read you pride and prejudice
I like my books better than oxycontin
My Clarry and Jace more than your straight ***** and chase
I like books more than people
reading is my choice drug
while yours starts bringing you down
on your addiction is frowned
mine is making me looked up to
yes I am a loner
my walls build from Stephen kings
my heads not clouded with weirs the ****
no I guess I am not a stoner
but fictional people are better than real ones
I wont **** for a too finger bag
but touch my paper back and ill have your ***
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC
Hey kid, you've been dead a few weeks and I'd just like to say hello. The ground has its first December coat of fragile snow over your dead body and I know you can't feel the cold but I'll tell you right now, I can see my frozen toes, just barely move them, breathe up into the sky, Id be lying if I said I still cry every day. But, I'm lying to myself if I said that I'm not trying to take back your pain every day in a way that won't make your heart start beating again.
I wonder if those butterflies ever drank up the nectar from your blood, probed their soft tongues into the velvet of your cuts, those razor blade ribbons, oh holy romantic, how you bleed like Mozart and bleed like ballads of classic rock stars, how they whip your face with sour sweat and drugs and drugs and drugs until you find yourself half asleep, brain swept under the rug.
Did you know only 1.5% of drug overdose related suicide attempts are successful? Beautiful blonde martyr for an ugly catholic high school in an ugly state in the ugliest of its hearts, how does it feel to be 1 in 100? How does it feel to be a rarity, carbon pressed into diamond? How does it feel to be cry for a week, left in the grass to roll like waves, buried without a name and a face and a grave?
In the latest of solemn sleep deprived nights I press my ear to the chest of the 100th depressed boy I come across and don't feel Vicodin climbing up his arteries, don't feel Klonopin, OxyContin, Ibuprofen. I can't seem to find the one, who knows, maybe you were it and all my efforts really were wasted. All those nights I've stayed up late did nothing. All those knives I stole, all that blood I wiped away with t-shirt sleeves, all the blankets I've put around stupid shaking shoulders, all the bittersweet will this be the last time your skin is this warm hugs, God did they mean nothing at all?
I lock my jaw into a permanent silence, buy back time by putting my money where your knife is. I take bets on when someone will die next. I read the label on every bottle of Xanax. I roll over in my bed again and again, and try to put you to rest again.
Amen.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 10:52 PM UTC
While Zafar takes his crop to town
Businessmen snort ******
Teens buy bundels to fill their veins
With housewives Oxycontin reins
The Generals demand their Percs
Technocrats love Dilaudid's quirks
While drones fly over Zafar's field
Counting flowers for next year's yield
r 9Jan14
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC
impale olympic skies! their pacific
avarice, turbulence, mai-tai-dyed
oxycontin contradictions pull out
deep convictions to rift meteoric
and fall apart.
happiness apart.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
You were a great person and a great pharmacist.
You were killed in cold blood and you will be missed.
You were murdered because of some Oxycontin.
You're dead but you won't be forgotten.
It's sad to know that you won't be coming back.
Your life was taken away by a sick maniac.
Being killed because of some pills was evil and low.
Many people loved you and we all hated to see you go.
Now your family and friends are forced to say goodbye.
I really liked your pharmacy and you were a nice guy.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 9:18 AM UTC
There lived a man in Shady Hills,
sits home all day, popping pills.
Morning, noon and night,
not any real food in sight.
Drinks water from the tap,
too wired to take a nap.
Percocets all **** day,
Vicodin is the only way.
Xanax in the night time,
****** he buys for a dime.
Oxycontin, he keeps hidden,
his hiding spot is forbidden.
Takes Abilify for his mood swings,
taking Amphetamines gives him wings.
More skinny than a rail,
in life he sure did fail.
Ecstasy, he keeps under lock and key,
he doesn't give away any pills for free.
At thirty he ended up with cirrhosis of the liver,
he didn't care about his new founded quiver.
Popped pills til his death,
at least he never smoked ****
Died at the age of thirty two,
in his stomach was pill stew.
Just another sad lost soul,
popping pills will someday take a toll.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 1:10 AM UTC
"listen to me!" his mother said
"If I see one more tear, you'll never see her again!"
the five year old boy's cheeks
still flushed
his eyes swelling like
a pop-knot
they are ****** red
his chest will surely
explode from the tension
any moment now
he clenches the tube of
ointment in his front pocket
of the new pair of jeans
his grandma bought him
on the way back from
North Carolina
the young boy wipes his eyes,
rubs the bald spots on his head,
noticing his last eyelash has fallen on
the last tear running down his
face
his grandma holds him tight, she says:
"I love you. I'll be back soon."
he can feel his mother's
needle-worn arms pulling him away.
he can smell her morphine sweat.
he can taste her oxycontin breath.
despite watching his grandmother
close the door of her 1990
green Beretta and drive
off Walnut Street and
down Oakford Ave--
the little boy
never cried
again.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 8:46 PM UTC
s. l. .. w. he tells you
n. i h he loves you
o. n. i. and he's
r. e . l. ,. quitting
t. s . e... today, and the lines
get longer but he still wants
you to stay and when he
R E L A P S E S
and does too much too soon
and you're holding him and
you're screaming into the phone
and they keep asking
h
o
w
much did he do?
and you're
lying and you
snort another
line and you
put down the phone
and when the
police (!!!)
knock on the door
you have nodded
out and he is
gone and you are
bleeding and you
open your palms
and you clutched
the razor so tight
and you cut up
another pill and
you snort the pill
and the door
breaks
down
and you cry and
you swear you
don't know how much
he took and they
tell you he is not
coming back and you
blame yo ur self
blame yo ur self
blame yo ur self
blame yo ursel f
an dyo u f o rgot
h ow mu c h
(h o w mch dd i tk agan?)
a nd
yo u colla ps
a nd you're gone
and the lines
don't matter
anymore
.
.
.
.
.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
the night is picking on those strings again
with ancient tunes that drip
dripping, screaming whiskey down my throat
and eyes filled with lightning-bolts
life, streaked like rain across my windshield
as I speed through red flashing lights
with whispering ghosts and glorious sights
i'm a rocket bursting, spitting flames
spitting memories ringing, and birds that are singing
as we fall from the sky
sifting through photographs
times and people that needs a story
but i will make them wings with sheets and sticks
strapped to the back of notes that fly back in time
a time itching in the back of my head
make me open my skull and scratch my brain
just a little out of tune
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 10:31 PM UTC
i am cracked ribs when it's
raining and the road
is slick
with car oil-
car crashes.
stinking rubble,
the bottle of oxycontin
that rests by your bed,
cold dead feet motionless in the morgue.
i am the graceless stroke of a violin
in unpracticed hands,
the rip rip ripping of a dress
torn off,
the chill in winter breath.
you are the sun that found me
fixable,
not hopeless
or yellow addiction.
you were the cast that healed my broken
bones
piecing back together my
fragmented whole.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
Listen to me...
Listen to me, when my voice no longer travels with sound..
When the language of my body is telling you, I can no longer breathe.
Listen to me...
When the words cannot manage to escape, but the tears have no problem running away.
Listen to me, when my smile is lying to you, and the sparkles on my eyes are telling you "there is no reason why you should let Heaven and Hell get in the way because, we are living in the now...
and it's all worth it in the end."
Life, is beautiful!
Full of enchanted mysteries and tragedies, and learn that you can't have one without the other!
They merely coexist.
Maybe an oxymoron, but maybe you're a ***** if you think a fist-full of Oxycontin will turn you into anything more than rotten.
No! You don't need a hand up your stockings to prove to yourself that "Maybe this time, I won't be forgotten..."
Listen to me...
When my heart is drowning in quicksand, going down, dipping under, asphyxiated. But, I know that trying to listen for a sinking soul is tough because those are the times we decide to "hold, mute" rather than "turn up."
Listen...
to the beauty in the wind, the beauty of the wind because most of the time we are too caught up in why it turns twenty degree weather into ten below.
EMBRACE the wind, it will be there to sweep you off your feet when prince charming is "stuck in traffic."
When he is not around you will always have the skies to serenade you and the trees breathing love and hope into your life.
Listen...
to the pride in mans' voice
Don't judge.
Maybe, he is just wanting to make his daddy, proud.
Listen...
to the rejection in womans' voice
don't become angry with her.
Maybe, she has had her heart broken too many times and doesn't know how to disinfect her wounds.
Listen...
to the rumors, but don't spread them.
Find a way to make them beautiful!
Smile at the old man in the supermarket walking with nothing but a basket full of microwavable foods in his hand.
He is too afraid to turn the stove on.
Maybe, he lost everything in the fire
Maybe, he lost Her in the fire.
And no matter how crooked your teeth are, there is something magical in the crescent shape on your face that means forever!
Hug your mom and dad as often as you can, because one day they won't be there to hug you back... or you won't be there to hug them back.
Dance! in the moon light, because it's the only time you'll experience the sun and the moon in the same place.
Listen, in math class.
And I mean listen...
Because, you're going to need to add and subtract people from your life.
And most of the time you won't find x, but x is what we live to find.
So whatever you do,
KEEP UP THE DETERMINATION
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
I spend my time
drinking
writing
thinking about death
thinking about ***
licking oxycontin dust off of razor blades
and adoring that stupid beautiful boy
with every ****** up fiber of my being
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 9:42 PM UTC
Flying on Oxycontin
Feelin lonely and forgotten
Mind reeling
Don't know what the hell I'm feelin
Letting time do the revealing
Staring into space
Caring only with disgrace
While reality slaps me in the face
Goin so slow
Like where'd the hell I go
Lost cause no one will ever know
Falling further
Day n night become a merger
Soul gone like it was ******
Speed slows down
Fumbling, tumbling to the ground
Relief knowing no ones around
Finding solace
Reality not to be missed
Lost in intoxicated bliss
Although I know it
Its only for the moment
Temporary peace
Self induced release
Its too much, its a lot and
I'm flying on Oxycontin
feeling lonely n forgotten..
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 2:47 PM UTC
Beware the addictive properties of our own negative emotions.
Anxiety is a stronger stimulant than a quarter ounce of the highest grade of *******
Anger as intoxicating as a fifth of precisely aged whiskey.
Sorrow as mind numbing as fourty cc's of premium China White.
Denial masks pain like an eighty miligram oxycontin.
Fear can paralyze like propofol.
Ignorance more dangerous than a speed ball served in a ***** needle at a Hepatitis C support group.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 2:47 AM UTC
I woke up drowning
in the sleek black ocean
of unfamiliar pavement.
The cries of worry,
sorrow and shame
bled together as one.
I was asked questions
in what seemed like strange tongues
and responded with foreign answers.
And then, suddenly,
the road swallowed me whole,
like a pill, with no water.
I woke up floating
in the bright ambience
of an unknown struggle.
Needles prodded,
strangers argued
and loved ones watched on.
Confusion set in,
'Did I do something wrong?'
they told me just to lie still.
And then, abruptly,
the morphine surged
and the night fell away.
I woke up relaxed,
the I.V. saw to that,
as did the OxyContin.
Five stitches,
one for each separate time
my body bounced against the blacktop.
A fractured skull,
splintered like a rotting stump
struck by the dullest hatchet.
A broken leg,
encompassed in a new kind of boot,
for once on the receiving end of support.
And now I'm confined to the shrunken world
I map out with each small, slow step.
It seems I'm to die of boredom
rather than in the middle of Round Lake Boulevard.
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 2:58 AM UTC
My wine is on the top shelf of my closet, inside a suit case.
One pack of cigarettes rests inside of my nightstand.
My Vicodin lies in the back of the same nightstand in a small red envelope.
My **** is in an Altoids tin sandwiched between my two mattresses, by the window.
Another pack of cigarettes is in the front pocket of my backpack accompanied by a lighter.
Another lighter is in clear view on my nightstand.
Three 70 mg Oxycontin are in an allergy pill container underneath my bed.
My tobacco pipe and tobacco are in an old medical kit on the second shelf of my book shelf.
I love you mom.
More than all these things
and the fact that I feel that I have to let you know that makes me very, very sad.
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
she’s got the Oxycontin blues and an appetite for Ritalin
a body made for fixation
Wellbutrin XL 300 MG to cope with hallucinatory voices
little lonely, melancholy mollie keeps her gloominess away through raw physical exertion
Prozac to highlight her manic side
she lacks emotional stability
****** to walk her off the end
2 ***** bottles and some ******
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 8:41 PM UTC
She’s a dimple and a drag, corner of Worth and Magpie, French Vogue idioms and her mother’s red flowery hoop earrings. Aloha! Aloha! Oopty-oops in contract loot thru streets and backyard parties, concrete larders, her eyes lie like presidential promises, a slipknot of licorice around her neckline to keep her rising tide from the Menarche Moon.
Anything to keep the little penny featherweight dancer from slipping. Her siblings poke fun at her funny way of speaking, her bath tub is just an excuse for chiseling at her innards, taking a drag at her lungs and punching her duck-billed platypus in the kidneys; a heavy-weight champion of the worm.
That until all the saints come writhing off the fishing lines. Until the ballerina’s edema coexists with Tokyo extremists, serial killer behemoths that keep body parts and *** toys in the freezer. Here, here! Wrath goes to the fella with the wicked demeanor. In an area of limited sight, this country, it’s people are sickened at the sights of themselves, and the wackos are coming out in large swaths, minerals and dimples strapped to their waist belts in the throes of a menopausal demagogue heaving OxyContin down El Camino Real.
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 4:34 PM UTC
*A trillion lights bid hasty reflection
The bowed following preordained paths to
cardboard suburbia , under jet fuel rain , gnashed
in misery , some oxycontin follower , worshippers of Herod , rock ***** payback in five dollar denominations
A trick , a spittle of ***** in a ladle drawing gold from a coat pocket
Like a child's first snow , the learners license , naked in city lake
Kings with chewed teeth , bottom feeders in search of a vein , convenient Christ for **** and Jane , peanut butter for crustless sandwiches and taxed brains
Anarchy dreams , Presidential schemes , Syrian children burnt beyond
recognition , American pregnant teens , what would Jesus do ?
He's left us to our own devices* ...
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 8:00 PM UTC
Remember the day
They took the pain away
And turned us all oxymoron's
Visiting our own graves
The walking dead
Zombified
And to think we thought
They gave us back our lives
Trampled by the pills
That they prescribed
Pay the pusher
The greatest price
It'll be alright
When it's hard to swallow
When that ain't enough
Find an uncaring vain
And start shooting up
Who could have known
They'd throw us the longest curve
When the disease turn out to be
What we thought the greatest cure
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 8:18 AM UTC
Loving an addict is like living in a haunted house
It isn't always scary, but when it is, it is terrifying
It is shake you in your bones, haunt you to your core ~ terrifying
Little things lead up to the big scares
A bump in the night
(of *******
A spilled elixer on the floor
(of straight *****
A crushed up relic scattered along the floor tiles
(of Oxycontin pill bottles)
And you try to pretend it isn't happening
And you tell everyone you can't see the ghosts
And you ignore the loud noises and the sudden screams in the night
After all, this is your home and he is your heart
And now your heart is haunted
Jul 29, 2019
Jul 29, 2019 at 4:13 PM UTC
he was summer fire and hot flashes
and wondering wondering wondering
he was hesitation and ego inflation and
playing with matches
she is oxycontin and sleeping till three
a side thought lodged in the frontal lobe
less than real, more than a dream
she is just half of a need
he was internalized self-hatred
that was realized too late
he was affectation and frustration and
too much dead weight
she is not enough time
not close enough to feel yet
close enough to touch
she is some, but not quite enough
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
She has hair that glows neon
In the midnight chill of the mind.
It blacks out her face from memory
Like the lace of a
Wedding veil dream catcher
Spun like spider silk
To bind her blind.
And she wears polka-dotted
Cigarette scars on painted,
Sallow, yellowed skin,
And her heart is made of patchwork,
Some pieces lovingly stitched,
Some loose,
Some worn,
Some dotted with blood from
Hazy misaimed needles.
She’s swathed in Virginia silk,
A feast for the eyes,
A feast for the moths,
And as gauzy as
Bandages, as gauzy as
The swirling darkness of her mind
As it whispers
Frightening, beautiful thoughts
From behind her button-black eyes.
She needs mending, she says,
Needle against her skin and
Eyes shining like marbles.
She needs loving, she says,
Stuffing herself with OxyContin
Laced with lies like the lace of a
Wedding veil dreamcatcher
Spun like spider silk
To bind her blind.
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 4:01 PM UTC
The green and blue.
It’s all I ever see, haunting me, continuously.
Crawling down my throat, and out my pours.
A constant flow of energy, of the Oxycontin
Maybe a sign I cry, before my face
crashes down, concrete and all.
Oh, don’t judge me.
Please?
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC