"painkillers" poems
Both can ****
The only difference is
Cigarettes shatter lungs
She shatters everything
I remembered the first moment
my lips pressed the filter
as I lit it up breathed it all
savored every smoke
as if we covered up painful lies
in a container of painkillers
The same way
we used to pressed our lips
sparked something between us
savored every moment we had
as if our love was a rose
in a valley of tulips
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 1:37 PM UTC
We don’t see the carrots to be cut,
We see the sharp knife that could cut us.
We don’t see the bridge,
We see the other side of the railings.
We don’t see painkillers,
We see medication we could drown ourselves in.
We don’t see the train,
We see the tracks we could lay on.
We don’t see the nice view,
We see the cliff's edge we could jump off.
May 9, 2019
May 9, 2019 at 7:25 AM UTC
First comes the flush
Then the rush of horniness
loneliness
A splash of pain
Droplets of scarlet rain
and the ****** of lingerie
Sobbing at roses
Yelling at trays
You're spotty
and bloated
and splayed on the bed like Cleopatra
drugged up on
painkillers
And the cocktail that humanity spiked with hormones
Fun.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 4:32 PM UTC
It's the same day again, another Monday, everyday is Monday
Monday, its Monday. Monday again, its Monday
The rain is pouring and its Monday, I have to go to work
I'm stocking shelves on Monday and the rain is pouring
I see the blonde girl and I avoid her eyes because its Monday
Perhaps on Tuesday I'll smile at her but its Monday and its raining
I'm taking a cigarette break on Monday and its raining still
Now I'm buying painkillers because its Monday
and the rain seeps through my hood on Monday
Monday, its Monday. Monday again, its Monday
"Is the bus late?"
"Yes, probably because its Monday."
Solemn faces on Monday
Crying children on Monday
Jaded skies on Monday
Will the sun be shining on Friday?
Who knows, I only exist on Monday
and its raining again.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC
---
Sitting in his chair,
Laughing at your pain,
Abuse driven glory,
His only aim,
---
Withdrawn from society,
Curtains drawn close,
Prozac painkillers,
Attention less ghost,
---
Viral anger,
Lack of remorse,
Deflecting the pain,
Of his parent's divorce,
---
A knock at his door,
The troll opens it wide,
A recognised face,
Looks him straight in the eyes,
---
Fear grips his body,
As she pins him to the floor,
Their screams turned to silence,
A troll he was no more....
---
The urban legend,
Of the internet troll.
Punished by the evil...
That devoured his soul.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 4:45 PM UTC
she wanted to die.
like you,
except, only once
at a time where you loved her
but didn't know it yet.
she - brown eyes,
perfect smile (at least you think so),
dimples, white teeth, obnoxious laugh.
you - tripping fingers, shaky hands,
full lungs, tapping feet,
brown eyes.
the two of you, dull.
unnoticed, like the warning labels
on your bottle of painkillers
and her prozac.
the warmth, absent and missing
like the liquor someone must
have taken from the refrigerator.
you thought, it's useless
to live for nothing except pain and
numbness and numbness
and numbness.
she thought, it's useless
to live for nothing.
the two of you, wanting to die
trying to die
but didn't. couldn't,
like that one time you wouldn't
get out of bed.
and now, together.
both smiling, laughing fully
but not complete.
the warmth, there but
not burning.
about just enough to keep a
fire going.
though she swears she feels
the heat,
you are still gaining back
your fingertips
from the numbness.
numbness.
numbness.
you thought, it's useless
to die if she is here.
and now, living.
the missing, gone
like the old medicine you flushed
instead of taking.
and your brown eyes, still dull.
hers, too.
except louder, now, and shinier.
demanding, like the heavy parts of the earth.
together, and complete.
she wanted to die.
and you wanted to die, too.
and "never again"
she says, "because you're never
leaving me,
and i'm never leaving you."
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 1:29 PM UTC
Suicidal tendencies, alleged attempt in 2011
(National Scholar-Athlete)
Bipolar with psychotic features, meds necessary
(President of student government)
Anti-social features, deceptive, manipulative, lying.
(Captain of varsity athletics)
Qualifies as a pickup. Forfeits all rights. Police involvement if necessary.
(President of an all-star rugby club)
Extreme aggression. Any homicidal idealization should be taken seriously.
(Trustee Scholarship to a renown private college)
Narcotics abuse. Marijuana, LSD, Klonopin, ******* Alcohol, Painkillers
(3.7 GPA)
Masks and shields intentions. Deceptive with professionals.
(Active volunteer)
I advise that he be admitted to a hospital immediately
(Participant in community)
Drug abuse counseling, medication, extensive therapy necessary
(Leader of peers)
Diagnoses fly like a panhandlers love affairs
Your inexact science is a disgrace to what I've created
A philosophy based on your experience
Ignoring the dynamic of the human condition
****** for feeling to much
****** for not feeling enough
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 12:37 AM UTC
I hate the word "perfect".
Nobody can be perfect.
It's literally impossible.
They say, "Don't change, you're perfect as you are."
Humans can't be perfect.
It's not in our nature.
Our media portrays perfection as people's personalities painted in pretty pastel.
Don't be fooled.
Perfection is disgusting.
Perfection
is tearing your hair out over a simple dashed line
in front of the "A" on the report card.
Perfection
is raking chewed cuticles across your cheeks
for missing the kick in Phy. Ed class.
Perfection
is spilling your guts out after every meal and screaming into the mirror,
"Am I perfect yet?! Am I good enough for you?!"
Perfection
is ripping apart the artwork you poured your heart into
because someone pointed out a flaw, and now you can't unsee it.
Perfection
is gorging on painkillers
as if they would take away the emotional pain, too.
Don't you dare tell me that I'm perfect
because perfection is disgusting.
I hate the word "perfect".
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 10:08 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
I wish I could drink my pain away(alcohol)
I wish I could inhale the happiness by smoking this plant (marijuana)
I wish I had a bottle of pills to **** all my pain(painkillers)
I wish I could let you rock my world till it's insane(Amazing *** ~)
I wish I knew who to blame
I keep wishing for the same thing
I thought if I wished and hoped hard enough the pain could just go away(I tried I tried to make it go away)
But honestly everyone should be wishing for a reason for me to stay
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 6:57 AM UTC
He loved it when she slid up
to him, as sweet as a sprinkle doughnut -
but now, something has befallen her,
she's been burned or frozen, tastes more like
cinnamon raisin; but by virtue of his
firelit face and tall tales,
he still gets invited out.
_____________________________
He creaks upstairs an hour late, we
are already tangled up on the
back porch, smoking, and the
liquor has made everything
an economy of scale.
He is a ray of sunshine. Tells us
all the old groaners. The big fish.
Ultimately says, "Happy birthday.
Never let your guard down."
and hobbles off, with barb-wire chafing
his heel, and the rheumatic suspicion
that "rest" and "wellness" are
the fables taught to us by
bogeymen, trying to convince us
there are no bogeymen.
I am a tender Twenty tonight.
I want to twirl my fists in Muhammad Ali speedbag-spirals,
saying, "I am the champion. Never undefended."
But I am too drunk, and maybe
too humiliated.
God! He floats like painkillers. He stings like loss.
There he is, the tall order, the iron giant:
a two-story brainfreeze milkshake.
I shudder, a pipsqueak of a prizefighter.
The bucktoothed squirt at the icecream booth,
too short to notice that there are only three flavours.
Sep 15, 2010
Sep 15, 2010 at 3:01 PM UTC
Cuddling literally kills depression
If you cuddle, you will become addicted to each other
Gives the same reaction as taking painkillers
Though they hate to admit it, men love cuddling just as much as women
Can strengthen your relationship and built trust
Can heal wounds faster
It's the best feeling
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 12:57 PM UTC
The rivers channel rain
The way I channel pain
I begin to see the futility
In denying pain's utility
Pain takes on a ****** nature
And becomes my intellectual savior
I shatter the mirror
And swallow the shards
The pain becomes clearer
So my ******* get hard
Glass fills my lungs
They're profusely bleeding
From words that stung
Being my daily greeting
***** shoots out from my gun
When I cut myself for fun
My hose starts spewing
Once vultures start chewing
It's the only way I can cope
When it's pain that gropes
I live in a world that mixes *** and violence
I live in a world that mixes *** and silence
Where the painkillers
Become the pain creators
And our life's filler
Is being pain traders
A bull has charged through my library for a decade
At this point every bovine movement cuts like a blade
He creates pain that lasts
When every day becomes my past
I had a dream
A sorcerer controlled my body
But he only wanted pieces of me
Bones started snapping out of my skin
Blood spurting everywhere
I awoke to ***** down there
I guess life isn't always fair
When I dream to avoid stares
The real pain comes when I care
When the privileged boycott
The impoverished boy's cot
He learns to ********** in the streets
And gains an appreciation for feet
Feet that trample
The pain is ample
When people powerfully push him away
So he decides to go against the grain
But there's no peace to be attained
And all he's left with is pain
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 4:45 PM UTC
Magical ain't it
I'm running with a crown
Wasn't born into it this way
Nope, didn't steal it
But I ain't no Saint either
Just worked it up from the bottom
Looking up to a ceiling
Then putting my head down, I told y'all
I told y'all I wasn't gonna be the same
No not after all that I've been through
Not after I dropped all the pride for y'all
Not after I walked off with my head up strong
Oops now I am seeing a flock
Throwing bread crubs look at em follow
Yah I'm a beast with it
Guess growing up wasn't so easy
Maybe that's the story you can't hear it
Many dark moments have me remenising
Painkillers just isn't cutting it now is it
Had to break off this vision
Had to look beyond anything I could invision
Nothing new dark roads will tell you
This one has some light
Must be the flashlight I'm holding
Magical ain't it
I'm running with a crown
Wasn't born into it this way
Nope, didn't steal it
But I ain't no Saint either
Just worked it up from the bottom
Looking up to a ceiling
Even when they left me
Even when they doubt me
Even when they smiled at me
It didn't mean anything
Saw it for what it was to me
Headed up a mountain no strings
Never looked down I forgot it
Quiet up here ain't it
Hearing echoes all around me
Maybe all those heavy feelings
Finally lifted me
Magical ain't it
I'm running with a crown
Wasn't born into it this way
Nope, didn't steal it
But I ain't no Saint either
Just worked it up from the bottom
Looking up to a ceiling
Skies in reach clouds are now beside me
Every lasting freedom that I seeked
Sweated off calories for years
Didn't even notice it was for me
Go and buy it I don't need to see
Like it, I take it now it's free
Everything in my hands or just in reach
Chose to walk away you see
Lost it all for me
What's the point with no depth
Felt like I was reaching blindly
Creative soul burning deep with hopes
Uneducated goals reached them all
Presidented stance welcoming everyone
Come in come in with a soft tone
Magical ain't it
I'm running with a crown
Wasn't born into it this way
Nope didn't steal it
But I ain't no Saint either
Just worked it up from the bottom
Looking up to a ceiling
Jul 1, 2023
Jul 1, 2023 at 7:23 PM UTC
Here I stand, an outsider to my own body,
Seeing myself,
Hearing my words,
Watching as my lips form each disgraceful, hurtful sound,
Every fearful curse
As I pace the room.
I look on but don't understand.
I just stand here and watch her - myself.
I do nothing,
Because there is nothing I can do.
I don't know that girl.
I've never seen her before.
No one I’ve ever been would speak those words.
No one I’ve ever been would throw herself at him.
No one I’ve ever been would be that desperately pathetic.
Every desire in me screams,
“Shake her!
Snap her out of it!
Smack her!
ANYTHING!”
Who is she to be that selfish?
Who is she to stoop that low?
To only see herself?
To care more for herself than anyone else?
To speak to someone for whom she cares with such false hatred?
Never in any moment has she felt its authenticity.
Just muffled attempts at ignoring her confusion.
*Note to self:
Who are you?
What have you become?*
I watch but do nothing.
And I follow her home to watch her more,
Searching for a clue behind every nervous twitch.
A palm full of twenty painkillers trembles in one hand,
A bottle of water in the other,
Tears ceased,
Just calm.
There she sits for what seems like hours
But only proves minutes.
And something inside of her makes her stop.
Me?
Somehow, two days later, we meet again.
My vision has changed.
I feel her again,
A version of her I respect.
One moment watching,
And the next moment being.
So I find the pills.
Without hesitation,
I dump the remains,
Listening to the plop, plop as each drops.
I press the ****
And they are flushed forever,
Along with the girl I never recognized.
Never will I see either again,
And a quiet grin turns the ends of my lips.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 11:29 PM UTC
Early morning and the head is pounding,
The unwelcome taste of something strong,
Dancing at the back of the throat,
Sit up, stand up, sit back down,
Vision spinning one way and stomach the other,
Staring into the mirror at a depressing cocktail,
Of two parts painkillers and one part regret,
And don’t hold back on the ice
Then it hits,
An acidic burning shooting up the throat,
As a black poison is spewed into the sink,
Only to wash away leaving a foul stench and worse taste,
Coughing and swearing,
Head in hands,
The age old lie muttered through tight lips,
“Never again...”
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
False memories and track marks pave your arms
Sudden revolt of youth pressurised to fail
Painkillers doubled and stacked for a head to slumber
Soft heads and dead leg spasm attack pillow piddles in *****
Fictitious tesla coil blue breath mortifys mortality
And your goggles won't fog out the underwater current miscellaneous
Digital tectonic pushing ideas you brainstorm
Shadowed reluctance to consume the musk of infrared roses
This romance is one that was jealous of itself
Pre-divorced in its own certainty on incompatibility
Basin top full too top heavy to predict precarious
Living in a shaded sense of erased memory lapses continuing truth
Toward magnificent still life categorised by perdition
Forward thinking ruby gold phong shaded hatred quantum conversate Unthinkable
Nebula of gas
Face first head in hands
Euthanasia between my thighs crush my head
Choked neck
Throat
Strangle me and give me breath
I roll and the conductor pulls apart my mouth
Diseased by euphoria lips separate and teeth show
Pupils land home and iris jumps ship
Perfume gum dry bitter butterfly kiss
Head held back in place tongue falls back into the razor-front of the mouth
Caution held simultaneous irrelevant body load carries my smile
Jump knee deep into the silence of my own lungs
It's been a while
I breath vindictively in time with the respiration of the country
Somewhere out in the hexagon sun I burn candles and whisp
Hold in smoke
Die
Twitch forward in palliative peace motionless and still
Cuspids and lochs
Spread across the grass the harmony touches yours and mine
A hole and whole dream
Conscious and dead
Content
Voices rattle in unified mono-chromidity
Sadness
Carrion
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC
Mood stabilizers, they call them, but in some ways, they're more like painkillers for your heart. They numb the feelings so that you don't have the extreme moods you are accustomed to.
When you have a mood disorder, everything you feel is so much more intense, and so much more certainly snowballs out of control. That's most of the problem; the complete lack of control you have over your chaotic emotions.
But then you go to a doctor, and they give you happy little pills called stabilizers to do just as they're told to. Stabilize you. Normalize you.
Funny thing is, even with the little heart painkillers, you'll never be normal. Even if you keep up a fantastically ordinary facade, you will never be ordinary. You will always have those little pills in your pocket telling you that you are not good enough the way you are, that you must change.
Its a double-edged sword, these pills. Because some days you wonder why you can't just be you, why do you need these drugs in your veins, but then you remember the cuts on your arms and the painful nights where you drowned in your own tears and you remember why even you don't think the person you are is acceptable. Get better, Grace, be better, Grace. The words pound in your ears until you forget who you used to be and you are always striving to be something more, something better. You strive until it kills you.
You are stronger, you can beat it, they say.
What if I don't want to beat it, though, just want to have control of it? I never want to feel less than everything, I never want to feel so dull and numb that it kills me more than the pain ever did, I never want to beat myself, I simply want to be me but controllable.
Because right now I'm uncontrollable and that's terrifying.
Painkillers for your heart, numbing you until you can't feel anymore. But sometimes I wonder if I really want to feel numb.
Do I want to be me, or who everyone wants me to be?
One is safer than the other, but which one is really living?
Because all I want is to feel alive, but I don't know whether surviving will entail that.
Painkillers or killer pain.
That is my decision, one I'm not ready to make. Maybe tomorrow, when mania is not so close to my throat.
Maybe tomorrow, because I am far too afraid of today.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 1:39 PM UTC
Empty.
Numb.
Careless.
Unfeeling.
The lifeless shell of a human you’ve become.
This is vacant soul I see.
I don’t know this boy,
Nor do I want to.
He died the night your arms formed my shield,
And dark eyes brightened to newfound life,
Leaving me speechless.
But our demise saw to it that the birth of death arise again,
Suffocating any life left in you,
Parting with happy, alive, and energetic,
Welcoming the cold.
And we meet the empty shell once more.
A nearly full bottle of painkillers rests on my desk,
Calling,
Shouting,
Crying out my name
For just a moment,
A notion bringing my fearful heart to its knees.
Speechless.
Instead I choose to chase who I once was,
While somehow attempting to better myself
Into someone who can be ok.
But what is ok, exactly?
When and how do we get to good enough?
And is “good enough” actually ever enough?
Too many thoughts.
Too many constant battles inside.
But still speechless.
You called me your “guardian angel,”
Said without me, you’d have no life.
You told me the ghost of who you were
Began to live when I stepped in.
Your will to exist, your empty shell,
Your desire to awaken at the break of every day,
Everything changed when I stepped in.
Everything changed when I stepped in.
You came alive when I stepped in.
You breathed new life when I stepped in.
You said, “Forever.”
You said, “My future.”
You said, “Always.”
You said, “Je t’aime.”
You said, “I want you.”
You said, “I need you.”
You said, “I love you.”
You said, “That love will never go away.”
You said, “I’ve waited my whole life for this.”
You said, “I want every second with you.”
You said it all, but I wish you hadn’t ‘cause maybe,
Maybe I wouldn’t be here,
Trapped in all the vanished promises of our evanescent life.
So many thoughts,
So many desires,
So much life lost deep down inside,
Yet still so speechless.
You stepped out when fear stepped in.
You stepped out when confusion stepped in.
You stepped out because of your stupid, unconditional, pure, overwhelming love for me.
And I stepped out because it made my heart swell with even more love for you.
I don’t know this boy,
Nor do I want to.
But I wish with everything I’m made of that I could help him in some way,
That I could be here in some way,
That I could find one thing to say
To bring him back to life some way.
But here I am,
Speechless.
Little does this boy know I’m here
If he truly ever needs me.
I am always here.
But here he also is,
A stranger,
Completely ok with feeling numb,
Just barely pressing on,
Lifeless.
And it was with those words, this realization, that I discovered
I meant nothing to you.
You mean everything to me.
And I meant nothing.
How can I believe this?
I don't.
But how can you act like it?
Empty.
Numb.
Careless.
Unfeeling.
The lifeless shell of a human you’ve become.
This is vacant soul I see.
But there is nothing I can do anymore,
Except lie here,
Pray here,
Stay here –
Speechless.
Jun 30, 2011
Jun 30, 2011 at 7:51 PM UTC
I look into the box
Her fabric folds of flowers are blue,
mine are pink and periwinkle, I’m wearing lace socks.
Mother stands behind me.
She is the only person-shape I understand
I stand in the doorway
A hand on my shoulder
Lying in bed, she beckons me
She’s not wearing her wig today.
Gently pushes a teddy bear into my hands.
From the Queen Elizabeth II.
Later, person-shapes
I don’t understand yet
but I see her sift out the chimney
Scattering her to the sea lapping my feet
My mother, her sisters watch the sun sink
drink caipirinhas
My first glass of champagne
A neighbor finds her at the bottom of the stairs
They do an autopsy
—painkillers—
Gracie’s eyes are dead too.
We bring flowers, despite allergies
because it’s convention.
First time I am also a person-shape.
A repeat.
She lies there, no wig.
A few hairs on the plush pillow.
Another box.
More flowers.
This time I lose shape altogether.
This one’s farther away
more peaceful
I don’t know him very well
I hover outside their grief this time.
A teacher. My teacher.
Healthy.
Sometimes it surprises you:
he doesn’t look real—
only person-shaped.
But then, they never do.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 12:22 AM UTC
Can I numb my body one last time?
You say you'll haunt me if
I overdose
I bleed out
I keep my food from digesting
I **** myself
Whether it is intentional or not.
Quitting cold turkey
Is a ***** and a half
But when you quit three things at once
When your life is still a living hell
You find yourself moody
And depressed
And angry.
How is it possible
That when I decide to stop cutting
Stop purging
Stop hurting my body
Stop denying myself
That I start to have those
Suicidal and foreboding thoughts
Enter my brain again?
Not that I'll act on them.
Obsessive thoughts
Lead to compulsive behaviors
I know this far too well.
The bleak practice of picking my skin
Will all but disappear from my routine.
But hey, at least it can't **** me.
Smoking some tobacco
As well as other assorted chemicals
Could send me to my grave.
It's a little bit of a longer flight, however.
And stress is a more direct route.
I guess you have to pick your battles.
People say they hate to be numbed
I guess that's why people abuse painkillers?
Sorry, I'm feeling distastefully sarcastic today.
But my point is
I don't mind it
Because take away the medicine
And you're forced to deal with whatever reality
Brought you to that point.
Might as well procrastinate while you can get away with it.
But it's a dangerous wire to dance on.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
-Undiagnosed-
Pray, don’t pity me,
For I do take blame
That I pity myself
And thus suffer this pain,
And please don’t mock
For there are greater ills
And more the deaths,
My suffering is nil.
Then perhaps
You’d maim my diet,
The lack of sun and
Poor exercise.
I need not even ask
How I’d improve my life,
When the bones sap my vigor
and seem to swell overnight.
And how could I ever try to say
That I see darkness when I go my way,
Pins and needles as I stand,
When the fault is mine anyway?
I shouldn’t even start to think
How my head throbs and pounds all night,
It’s surely because I don’t wake up with the sun.
But how do I wake when I don’t close my eyes?
Now, could it possibly be
You decided that I don’t rest,
That all this pain causes fatigue,
That sleep, you think, is for the best?
Consider when after hours and hours
My body finally dreams in defeat,
Would anyone care to do my work
If I shirk it off to get more sleep?
If the animals end up ill fed,
And the duties are not supervised,
With what peace do I lie in bed,
When it could be done better otherwise?
And so here I do write at six,
With my jaw stiff and eyes bright,
The wires of pain gently shift
Every time I move my hand to write.
What could I wake anyone for,
When painkillers don’t **** enough?
Just to say I cannot sleep?
I’d hear ‘wake up then, be tough’.
So do not again
Bid me to be strong,
Unless you tell the blind to see.
Well dear sir,
There’s no argument for that,
Except, please let me be.
What indeed could you try to cure
When I’m just deficiencies,
Of wit and courage, also strength,
Calcium may be imaginary.
But truly, I do agree,
With the opinion you selflessly endure.
For evidently
Nothing’s wrong with me,
And the pain one must learn to ignore.
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 11:44 AM UTC