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M Apr 2015
What Relapse feels like
Relapse- a proper noun that steals your attention and commands your obedience

Every person that was a part of your recovery had been lying
The recollection that it did not **** you but it did not make you stronger
Reliving the moment it stopped your living and when it prevented your dying
The feeling that you will not survive much longer
That is how relapse feels

The first taste of fruit after a long and barren winter
A moment of peace in a life measured in seconds
The perfectly straight lines of a newly aligned printer
A demand for piled servings and SECONDS!
That is how relapse feels

The need of a familiar place; of a familiar face
Desire for someone to hold you tight
The need to go far away; to go to outer space
Desire to leave this world for the light
That is how relapse feels

It's a ripping motion
Between wanting it to end and wanting its intensification
Between having to much and too little emotion
And the worlds between the brain speak languages with no translation
That is how relapse feels

It feels so good just to be so bad
The beauty in the human body's ability to mend and to break
It feels so bad just to be so sad
And the repulsive face of being awake
That is how relapse feels

It's a tearing
It's a tugging
It's a pulling
It's a shoving

Relapse is looking at the sky and thanking God for the ability to be alive
ten minutes before a battle in the head
asking if it's worth it to survive
ten minutes before tears stain so silently alone in bed

It's a promise broken
It's every moment spent clean wasted
It's the truth unspoken
It's the loss of happiness that had barely been tasted

That is how relapse feels.
Yume Blade Oct 2015
What is relapse for you ?
What do you thing you're gonna relapse for first ?

Are you relapse of your love ,
cause you're too far from your love
& you can't handle it ?
If you relapse in love you're going to hate forever after that.
Don't you want to love again somebody who deserve your love ?

Are you relapse of your fear ,
cause you're too afraid of something
& you can't face it ?
If you relapse fear you never going to know what means fear after that.
Don't you want to know fear for being happy when there is peace ?

Are you relapse of your sleep
cause you've nightmare every time
& you can't believe in dreams ?
If you relapse sleep you never know what your dream is.
Don't you want to see nightmares & let the dreams solace you **?













Lydia Oct 2018
I’m going to relapse tomorrow.
So I’m going to breathe in this moment where I am not in pain
I am going to touch and feel and understand right now
Because I can,
Right now, for the next few hours, I can be an entire human being

I’m going to relapse tomorrow
You’d think it’d be relieving to get a warning inscribed in your genetics,
Building patterns,
To “prepare”
But I cannot be prepared to open my eyes in the morning and see television static
To get out of bed and leave my arm behind
To fall off the leg that can’t hold my weight anymore

I’m going to relapse tomorrow
All I do is dread the pseudo-pain that creeps in when I can see again
You want to talk about fake?
Talk about nurses blowing veins
Talk about nightmares about hospital gowns
Talk about being afraid to ask for a seat on the subway because your illness isn’t real enough

I’m going to relapse tomorrow because that’s how this goes
This in and out like the ocean got angry again
Like I will never run marathons
You can’t run on a numb ankle
You can’t run on exhaustion and giving up
I can’t run on missed birthday parties

I’m going to relapse tomorrow, and I’m terrified
Because I’ve given up on my body before
Because the rest of the world can touch without pins and needles
The rest of the world runs on people can run constantly
I’ve been rusty since age seven,
I was built like an iphone
Meant to break and be thrown away so you’ll buy a new one

I know that I’m going to relapse tomorrow. I know, I know, I know,
I know.
This is the first time I have ever written about this because it I think that it is completely impossible for me to be okay with it. It refers to my chronic migraines that follow these very predictable patterns.

Please comment :)
Feel the bite of silver against your skin
You've welcomed back the steel again
feel the sting of alcohol down your throat
Forget your pain as you begin to float
You tried to run for so long
But you couldn't stay so strong
Pearl smoke Jun 2018
Scared Prt 1.
iM Scared Of Losing What
iHave Left.
iM Scared Of Seeing What
iHave Left Go Away.
iM Scared Of Disappointing
My Loved Ones Again.
iM Scared Of Being Reminded
What the reality of Drugs.                        can do once again.
iM Scared iF iM Sober Then Fall
iWont Ever Change again
iM Scared The Drugs Can
Take over me Like it Has before
Once more.
Scared Of Feeling Numb And Live The Whole Drug Addiction Cycle all over.

Scared prt 2.

I Relapsed & Now I'm worried.
Will I Go back to my old ways?
As much as I desire The Feeling of escaping my reality,
I can't live Like that. I don't want to be a drug addict all over again.
The Feeling Is pleasant . The Living of being 1 Is Horrific.

Scared prt 3
I’m scared
Of never finding hope
To believe my life has no worth
To never finding a light
To get lost in the
Darkness of my depression.
Im Scared
To never feel true happiness
To believe I have
No purpose in life.
To see I really don’t matter ..
I’m scared to prove
Myself right.
To really never start a life.
I’m scared to
Then lose my self again
To lonely nights with toxic touches

Scared prt 4

Be aware
I’m not scared like I used to be.
To lose  you, see you walk out.
Watch you leave & end us.
I have drugs.
To replace you,
Forget who you were
Erases our memories & best times.
Be aware
If you do me *****, I don’t care.
Drugs will always be there .
Il depend to forever not feel..
If you leave me, I won’t cry.
I have lines to get me past times.
So please know , I’m not scared.
To be left ,

Scared prt 5

I’m Trapped.
I’m not ok , I’m not safe.
The habits creeping up.
Slowly but rapidly.
I believe I got it together.
I tell myself I got it under control.
But do I really?
Relapsing after 2yrs is making an impact.
I’ve been falling frequently.
For a short time but I’m still using .
It will take ahold of me unexpectedly.
Slowly convince me this Drug life’s worth risking .
I need help .
I look fine.
I haven’t used severely but my minds hyped.
Il Get To that level.
If I don’t reach out in time.
My thoughts are converting slow
I can feel the careless emotions growing.
That’s why I’ve found it so easy to use and get away with it.
“Just today” “it’s only alittle” “I can handle this”
That’s until I build up my tolerance.
Lord Help me .. you know il cause heartbreaks if I turn back to what I Once was..


I’m so scared.
To get played again .
To get lied and betrayed.
I’m scared of my reaction.
I know il die alive.
I won’t even have the strength to ****** you.
I’d be so broken and just let the world walk all over me.
If you Do me *****
I’d lose it completely.
You’d prove all my doubts correct.
Assumptions I already knew were true in my head.
If you play me, Id lose my head.
Literally, go insane due to confusion & hate.
If you hurt me.
Drugs is what I’m going to be out searching.
Not even ask for an explanation.
I’d be too focused walking straight ahead to my connects house.
If you do me shady.
I Will Be angry at the world.
Scream to the top of my lungs
I would drown myself in drugs.
I’d hate the world completely for hurting me when I’ve done none wrong.
I’d go So crazy.
How can I So Loyal Be Played With.
Etcetc can’t even write more

Scared prt 6

Im not scared
Anymore .
I don’t know what to feel
I think I’m worried,
I just don’t feel it
My thoughts try to
Tell me something’s wrong.
I Can’t think of anything..
I’m unsure If I’m ok.
I don’t know if I’m
Even thinking straight.
I remember once feeling
So afraid.
I had to seek help on my own .
For the sake of my sanity.
My heart felt a heavy
Storm coming.
It rushed me to look out
Find shelter .
With strong material .
I started moving .
But did I act fast enough ?
Did I act before or after
Time had already passed..

Scared prt 7.
I’m scared
To Relapse & Stay Stuck
To give up recovery
I’m scared to
Look at you and walk away forever.
To just not care wether you believed I truly loved you.
I’m scared
For my love to be trapped
For all My strength to be gone
Lose it all ,
I’m crying.
Addiction will forever live in me
Wether Active or Overcomed
This drug will Always come
Aslong as I’m Happy , Positive
I won’t want to take a hit
But Even if nothing’s going on
My body & mind will randomly itch.
Ive been walking with this for too long to just erase it .
To forget I had a habit .

Scared prt 8
Jan 2018
Im not scared
Anymore .
I don’t know what to feel
I think I’m worried,
I just don’t feel it
My thoughts try to
Tell me something’s wrong.
I Can’t think of anything..
I’m unsure If I’m ok.
I don’t know if I’m
Even thinking straight.
I remember once feeling
So afraid.
I had to seek help on my own .
For the sake of my sanity.
My heart felt a heavy
Storm coming.
It rushed me to look out
Find shelter .
With strong material .
I started moving .
But did I act fast enough ?
Did I act before or after
Time had already passed..

Scared Part 9
Am I Fine.
Will I not rack a line.
Never touch a Rock in my life.

Am I Good.
Will I not Use again .
Will temptations not be seen as threats ?
Can I handle.
My urges to not Tweak again.
Will my triggers Be nothing to worry about?

Will I never feel tempted.
Have I finally over come every Obstacle of addiction?

I’m sorry.
I’ve worsen , I’m stuck once again.
This time it will be harder .
I’m a recovering addict
Stuck in a constant relapse Cycle.
What must I do
Should I sit & wait
On my next down fall ..


March 2018
I Didn’t notice.
Like always
I believed I had it all under control.
Everything was ok.
Everything seemed fine.
I felt normal,
I would stop soon.

I was Wrong ..
I Fell Down So quick.
I went hard.
No dubs or teeners.
I went straight to a Ball.
I just went all out.

I lost myself again.
I Lost control of the substance.
I Was trapped.
It became a problem.
One I wasn’t aware of.
I Had no recognition of at all.
I Didn’t see that I couldn’t stop.
I kept going
Kept using without seeing the frequency.
The days spent stuck.
I lost touch with reality.
This previous Relapse
Has been the worst in my life .
I haven’t had a binge like this time since 2015.
I used every day .
For 6 1/2 Weeks.
I lost track of the days & time.
I Sniffed & Smoked 2 8 ***** all to my self.

At the time I didn’t see how crazy that was.
Those weeks, an 8 didn’t surprise me.
The amount didn’t shock or Worry me.

I was fine , I had control.
I was doing ok , everything seemed & felt normal.
It was just a small relapse.

I was wrong
I lost touch with reality.
I formed a habit .
I was addicted again .

The sad part is
I’m able to acknowledge this Only through writing.
In real life , my denial mind
I’m able to handle my addiction. I’m ok & Dont have a problem.

It angers me.
Since my 1st Relapse
In August.
I’ve Fallen Very often.
It saddens me.
How I quickly Skipped
The Weight.
Why does it worry me?
My mind will no longer seek a Dub when I’m triggered to use.
It will want Another ball.

Anything less
My Addictive mind
no longer craves.
It now settles for Big.
This relapse has changed the game for my addict ways.
I’ve Relapsed every month
Since August.
I Had it all under control.
I Was able to use and stop.
Just this last time
I completely lost it.

Scared prt 11

I’m scared .
To lose my strength.
Have no durability.
To Give in So quick.
Be that weak
Where I don’t fear Tweak.
Find it easy
To just go seek.

I’m Worried
To reach that level .
Just Relapse constantly .
not care who Knows.
My problems
Have me overwhelmed.
Every day
The Stress grows .
I can’t bare another
Tug & Pull.
SES Sep 2013
You're my addiction.
My sweet addiction.
My painful addiction.

Just as an addict never truly
overcomes his addiction,
I will never,
be over
But you knew that didn't you?

I'll see a light one day
and pull myself out of your shadow,
then I'll relapse.
You know how it goes.
The rekindled hope.
The fear that goes along with it,
because what if that hope leads nowhere at all?
The smiles when I get your texts
or see you come in the door.
The breath that catches in my throat
when you smile, or laugh,
or do just about anything.

Oh I could have loved you.
The things I would have done for you,
sacrificed for you-
You really don't get it do you?
You don't think you're worth it,
I've seen it in your eyes.
But I want to grab your face and whisper,
"You are worth it.
You deserve it all,
anything you want
(and I hope you want me).
You. Are. Worthy."

Tonight I'm just angry with you,
I'm fuming in my bed as a write this at 12:32.
But give me a few more weeks
and I'll relapse again-
Just back where I started.
No really,
it would be back where I started
because the thing is
(the really pathetic detail is):
I grew up loving you.
The weeks we spent at summer camp
taught me how to love a boy like you.
They taught me how to laugh
and how to live.
They taught me all about you.

When I relapse with you,
I relapse with something else too.
I relapse with scars
and tears
and of course regret.
Because isn't that always how it goes?

The world must stay in balance.
That's why power comes with responsibility,
hope with fear,
and love... with pain.

And I'm addicted to every bit of it.
Ayeshah Mar 2010
I'm Having A Relapse
My muscles shaking my bones jarring
I'm stu- stu- stuttering,

I'm Having A Relapse
sleep walking while wide away,
dazed in a dream like state,
I need a fix I'm
itching- scratching
rubbing my hand and thighs

You, You you
oh why'd you do this to me
Screaming & tryna climb walls

I'm Having A Relapse

No no nooo don't stop
higher YESss Higher

bring me closer closure

I'm Having A Relapse
I went to the doctor to get help
He said He couldn't
Wouldn't help me is what He means
I run walk talk to myself
Help me Please!

Shaking, sweating,coughing with drive heaves
I feel so funny I can smell taste & feel it coming
I'm bursting with need Please
PLEASE release this desire
this fire which had consumed me,
Lived in my core my very being,

shut the blinds, turn off the lights,
I wont eat can't sleep,
Walking in a funk ,dazed and lonely
Don't hold me!!!!
Don't TOUCH !!!
Just give in Help me ,
Just um, Please

Just Oh Lawd please
Just um  Baby Just
HELP MEEEEEE...........

**** ME!!!!

Until I can't  breath,

I need YOU.
you Oh You........
You know your the cause of me
Having A Relapse!

(*** Addiction Can hinder you or for me lol make love making so painfully good!)
Always me Ayeshah
Copyright ©Ayeshah K.C.L.N 1977-Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved
Riley Ayres Jun 2014
as insanity depicts my pride,
I look at you in a way that I can't look at anyone else,
as you are constantly on my mind,
and the droplets fall in a way like never before.

you're heart encases me,
consuming everything I have within its arteries,
each thought becomes more liquefied,
as I try to stop the pain.

"she wouldn't want you doing this"

I tell myself time and time again,
yet still as the capsule slips past my lips,
I find some kind of release in the burning sensation,
that starts to simmer in my throat.

your eyes, I try to picture your eyes...
yet still you are not here for me to see them in flesh,
one look from you and I would stop,
but one look is something you will not give.


a pain that cannot be fathomed by a blade,
as you drag it from your elbow to your wrist.
I was a month clean but I can't help it now,
my body is dead.

Pain is a placid thing,
yet somehow it holds a power over me,
but, when I am with you it seems...
... that the hold it has is simply gone.

I can't seem to rendeer the thoughts of my childhood,
as I continue to do the inevitable,
have I slipped back into my old ways...
... Have I gone too far to go back now.




I am sorry I have let you down,
I am sorry that my callous ways are somewhat spiteful,
I may not have much self esteem,
but I know that I am selfish...

was I selfish in my dealings with you?
in the way I handled your gorgeous smile.
not that I recall..
yet I feel as though I have somehow

left, not to be welcomed back,
into you're arms of grace that make me collapse...

drag me out of this pit
save me from this relapse.
Richie Vincent Oct 2016
Cold sweats and shower heads leak into the seams of our worst fears and dreads,
Momma didn't raise no fool,
I'll be good as dead when they finally show


I can feel it again,
The existential dread,
Crawling through my bones, out of my skin and into my head

My best friend is my wall,
I drink to numb the feeling,
She don't love me, but she loves my mom

Tonight we are leaving and we are never coming back the same way


I've got a feeling,
A feeling of the cold and hazy blue,
I can feel you, I can feel you,
I've been thinking too much of you


I'll keep hitting it, I'll keep taking it in, willingly,
Because you asked me to

Your love of the yellow rose,
My cuts and the yellow thorns,
I'm torn and you don't feel it,
It's okay, I would never ask you to

If I could go back, if I could change anything,
I'd change the way you looked at me,
Only heaven knows the way I look at you

I've been dragging the lake for my friends,
I'll never find any because they're all dead


I've been thinking too much of you
Jess Petra Jul 2013
I’m having a daydream relapse of colors that don’t exist,
inter-dimensional crushes and sleeping with Picasso.

I’m having a daydream relapse of bankrupting the king,
champagne showers and headless beauty queens.

I’m having a daydream relapse of running out of love spells,
made up anniversaries and Egyptians that don’t look like Cleopatra.

I’m having a daydream relapse of laying naked with vintage villains
and stirring flakes of gold into my melanin.

I'm having a daydream relapse of running through the streets at night
and feeling pity for people not living like us.
InTheWorldOf Cyn Nov 2014

Every month.

This month it's been every week.

I can feel myself learning.

I've learned to rebuild.

Rebuild. Relapse. Rebuild. Relapse.

But when will I stop going back.


Pearl smoke Nov 2018
I remember
When a the word relapse
had A meaning .
When I’d Explain what it
Meant so you can be aware.
Told you what tempts me
What are some triggers.

I Expected You to
View it as a 911 call.
To help me when I’d fall.

You never payed mind
To the importance of it.
Just like you Didn’t think
Telling you I had an addiction Was something that bad.

I remember when
You Made your own definitions
To all the words I’d tell you.
I’m the one struggling
But you always made yourself the victim when it was me who needed attention, apologize, comfort & to support me.

Temptation & triggers
Have no meaning.
You never cared to look after me.
It wasn’t something you’d have to be 24/7 about.
You never questioned your negative actions & how that’ll provoke me.
You never cared until

A Relapse
Meant I Used because
I wanted to get high.
Finally You show importance.
Not in the way where your concerned if I’m ok & hoping that hit didn’t cause harm.
Concerned to where you stood by my side & talked on why it happened & what can we do to prevent it again.
instead , a relapse means
Talking **** to me , making me feel bad , blaming me, making yourself feel like I betrayed you
Feeling so angry saying I don’t love you & love that more.
You abandon me & go m.i.a
When you were the cause of why i couldn’t handle feeling hurt etc

I remember when
Relapsing made me feel guilty & so bad because I failed you & disappointed you.

I remember When
I’d tell you I’ll never be honest on my sobriety , confess or hand over paraphinillia .
For me to do the opposite of what I swore I’ll never do.
All because it killed me to lie & hurt me to see you stress your mind on doubts if I’m clean or not.
All For what ?
For you To talk **** to me when I confess about relapsing, for you to call me drug addict & insult me calling me Druggie tweaker etc
When I’d Hand you things

Me Being honest to you & open with my recovery only
Damaged me more.
What I gained wasn’t support.
It was money being thrown at my face telling me to go get high.
Calling me drug addict in many insult full ways.
You made a joke out of
my struggles.
You’ve never been there for me.

How far the meaning & value of relapse once meant.

A relapse now means nothing to me when it comes to you.

Being true to you
Only back fired.
You use it as leverage
To insult me more & have negative things to reply.
“I wouldn’t know, you kept
it from me before” etc
M Lundy Oct 2010
With shades of gray our lives
We collide always
My ways were changed but it doesn’t come so nicely
Relax, Relapse, Relax
It’s back to the floor I go
I can hear reverberations and feel the
Syncopation of our hearts as one
A single touch and my tension comes undone
With eyes to calm storms and a smile to awaken waves
We wait and watch and feel and want
And need and heed this warning;
I might love you too much
Copyright 2010 M.E. Lundy
Luisa Mar 2014
My soul hurts today.

Relapse relapse relapse
Friday night
Track marks

"Where was I?" was my first thought.. Did I ignore a text of help from her? Did I have a bad feeling that day that I ignored? Could I have done something to help her?

Could I have saved my sister from it this time?

I'm torn & my arms want to bleed & spill out all my sadness
Iz Apr 2019
I feel lost
I struggle at finding my way
between recovery and relapse
I don’t know what path to take
because recovery is a dream
but so is being thin
I feel lost
I struggle at understanding my hunger
I struggle at eating without feeling a thunder
inside me thumping the walls of my head
I struggle at being carefree
I struggle at enjoying my time
with my family and friends when I am home
when I should feel free

I feel lost
I have been trying to recover
but everything seems so hard
and I am tired
I am tired of trying
I am tired of hating my own self
for not being recovered enough
for not being thin enough
and I feel lost
I feel lost in the darkness of this illness
that I wish was stronger than my own self
because at least
I wouldn’t be stuck
between recovery and relapse
Grace Jordan Aug 2015
Dear Person I Despise Most,

God, I am on the brink of the best year of my life. I have just finished my first novel, and I actually think I might try to publish it. I have a gorgeous, ****, wonderful boyfriend of almost a year who deserves every bit of my love. I have great friends who don't expect me to be anyone but myself, and don't judge me when I get a little crazy. I am going to be in writing classes learning new skills that may not always help me write better stories, but make me more creative and bold and strong. I am starting my second year in a place that has made me such a better person, and I love all of it.

And on the eve of all that glory, I relapse.

Not those **** Jabberwocky thoughts, not even the little cuts that keep them away. But you. ******* you.

I don't know what I thought I'd expect when I told myself I'd just "check on you for a second". I should have known better. I should have known some sick part of me loves being angry and upset and hate you for thinking such stupid things all the time. For being so pretentious and entitled and sickening.

I was annoyed enough when I read your obnoxious posts about how gorgeous and hot and wonderful your boyfriend was. You guys break up every three minutes and still you fawn over him like a god.

But I digress.

I thought it was harmless. That nothing would come of it. That this would just be a little bit and probably the last time and no big deal.

Then you said it. You said you spent a year keeping someone alive.

If its me, then *******. You may have helped, but you did not ******* keep me alive. If I wanted to truly die, it would have happened. You are not the lone holy spirit that kept me afloat in my time of need. And in all honesty, halfway through you turned head and ****** me over, so please, kindly, shut your face.

And even if its not. What gives you that right to say you were keeping this person alive? If you truly were the only person they had, and they were in that much danger, go get them help. Tell people. Call the police or something. Don't just sit there and hold their hand so you can one day hold it over them that you 'kept them living' . That's ******* and manipulative and no one deserves that. And if they weren't that bad, if they had other people, don't take the credit like you are some righteous savior. Some pure soul who did nothing wrong. I spent a hell of a lot of time with you, and you are no angel, dear.

Funny thing is though, I keep on trying to get away from this. And I even keep on trying to protect you. I block you on things so you don't have to see this. So you don't have to see my stupid anger and hate because though you are no picnic and you were a manipulative ***** to me, it doesn't mean you deserve you to feel bad about my bad choices of seeking you out to look up. I'm also to blame in this, I looked for you again. But don't blame me if you searched this out when I made precautions to try that you wouldn't see this.

You know, I think the reason I still search you out is so that I can see if you're better and if you're not, to make myself promises to never be anything like you. Anger tends to fuel me a lot. I mean, my hatred for how people see love stories and suicides and depression got me to write my novel, which I adore. And your repetitive pretentious writing always did make me fight to write better, because though your type of writing was like candy to teens, I wanted mine to be the vegetables. ******* lame metaphor, but I am hyped up and its late at night, sue me. Regardless, I wanted to be the story people needed to read, that really made them think and grow, instead of what placated them as an easy read. Who knows, maybe if you could finish a story you could be a more popular novel. But I don't want to be popular, I want to matter. I want to make a difference. I don't want a quick buck, I don't want my writing to turn into some stupid marketing ploy to get me rich. I want to be classic. I may be shooting for ******* Pluto and I may not get what I want but at least I gave it one hell of a shot.

I do in a way want you to get better, to do something with your life and not be a mess. I'm happy you're trying. Maybe something will work out.

But I never want to be like you. And that has to be another reason I look, to fuel me and make sure I never sound like you, or think like you, because I know you are not who I want to be. I could never live with myself if I was pretentious and "tragically beautiful'. I'm just a regular person, with a few irregularities about her. I'm not some kind of epic heroine trying to write a tragically beautiful story for myself. I just want to live a nice life with people I love. My characters can live the beauty and/or tragedies that pull at heartstrings.

I'll never not be different, but I'm not letting that define me. Once, you got mad at me for letting my mental illness define me. Maybe it did then, but its certainly now true now. I'm not a crazy girl, I'm just a girl who happens to be a little crazy.

Make sure to take your own advice next time, and maybe next time I stupidly relapse I'll be a little bit proud, under all the annoyance.

I'm not meaning my opinion should matter in your life, though. And honestly yours shouldn't matter in mine. I'm slowly getting towards that. Maybe eventually we'll both get over this. Maybe you already are. I dunno. I don't talk to you. I sure as hell never will again. But for now, see you til next relapse.


That Friend You Had Once A Long Time Ago
Styles May 2017
Close your eyes
do not peek at me taking a peek
under your sun dress,
to address the radiant heat
your treasure box shaved neat
lips smoother than satin sheets
fingertips massaging
you pink peaks
as I take a peek
at the high-point of your ******
our intent meets
your fingers dig deep  as you spring free
your eyes roll back and your body relax
and your eyes relapse
struggling to catching your breath
with no energy left
you collapse
in my lap
Theia Gwen Apr 2014
I put the blade down
Once again
The gleam of silver shining
Obstructing my view
Imagining metallic
Deep in my skin
I pick it up,
Put it down,
Pick it up again
I choose the latter
I choose the latter
Pick it up again
Put it down
I pick it up
Deep in my skin
Imagining metallic
Obstructing my view
The gleam of silver shining
Once again
I put the blade down
It's amazing how just reading a poem backwards can change its meaning entirely. :)
chachi Sep 2010
for my friend with autoimmune disease*

Finally you are healthy,
for the time being. Won't you
pick up your guitar again
and play me a song. Sing
the world a lullaby.

So full of optimism, you,
make me believe, that you,
can conquer anything.
Except, relapse comes
and I'm crying. This world
can not afford to lose you.

This time turns out okay.
But I live in fear,
of unpredictable relapse.
While you, take advantage
of the health temporarily
granted to you. Each moment,
you deserve every moment.
Love you Cass, so glad things have been going better.
Valarola Nikola Aug 2019
The alcohol ***** me up every time,
And I just can't seem to find,
My sanity in the calamity,
Of my ever loving mind,
Because when it's drowning in tequila,
I just want sleep with a fella,
I'll invite over random people from Tinder,
Thank the Lord I haven't been murdered,
Or worse, yes there's worse,
Because I'm suicidal, find me a hearse,
I've been this way,
Since the fourth grade,
When my innocence was broken,
And now I'm just too woken,
To the ways of the world and the **** people in it,
And I just can't seem to find my place among it,

Relapse on the horizon,
If I can't find a way to survive this,
Please someone save me from my drowning before I die,
Because I don't know how to swim in my own mind,

I've been in pieces lately,
Crying sometimes uncontrollably,
And that's just not me,
I'm usually relatively happy,
Cracking jokes, to cover my hurt,
So no one knows just how far down in the dirt,
I really am these days,
How much I just want to fade,
Into oblivion, and never resurface,
Because I put a mask on my face,
And tell everyone I'm okay,
It's like an automatic reaction to say,
To never tell anyone how I really feel,
Which is like garbage if you can deal,
With the truth, but most people can't handle it,
Most people don't want the real ****,

Relapse on the horizon,
If I can't find a way to survive this,
Please someone save me from my drowning before I die,
Because I don't know how to swim in my own mind.
Liz Apr 2016
I know I should be sorry
I know I should feel bad
Because here I am doing the thing
I said I'd never do again.

I said I wouldn't hurt myself
But that's been ******* all along.
The only thing that kept me clean
Was knowing that if I splipped
I'd be hurting more than just me.

But now I'm sitting here
Like I have so many times
Tearing at my skin
For a glimpse
Of sweet relief.

In the grand scheme of things
A few small scrapes
Doesn't make a difference.
It's nothing dangerous
And it's not hurting anyone
It's just a way for me to silence
The monsters in me.

I don't care anymore
About taking care of me
I'll do what I want
Even if it kills me.
I'll do what I want
Even if it means
ruining nine months
Of a fleeting fantasy
Marisol Quiroz May 2019
i held an old friend to my wrist tonight
panicked and unable to breath
a mess of sickening sobs
he pressed down against me
holding me in a comforting embrace
the tears soon ceased
and again i could breath
beneath my wristwatch band
i’ll keep this forbidden secret
nobody can know but me
nobody can know but me.

— relapse
i’m sorry
Michael W Noland Sep 2012
[A] is for
Archer with
Arrow through his
Apple, very
Applicable, to the
Amounts of
Adorning his heart, in
Attributes, that impart, the
Admiration, of
*******, in this
Acting out of
Arrogance bit. he is,
Astute, in his
Allure, and
Aloof, in the
Air, of
Aspiration, in which, he was
Alienated in the
Agony, of
Assassins, the
Aforementioned. lights, camera,
Action. recipe of the
Admirals of
Aliens, that
Attacked, with the
Arms and fists, of
Arachnids, now
Aching to be
Activated in sudden
Allegiance to the
Answers, of the truth.
Accumulating wealth for
Anarchy's of
Angels in
Academies of the ever
After life .. . of silence.
****** strengthens in these
Accolades of violence, in
Alliance to
Appearing in the
Arson of
Apathy, happily, to
Anguish in the
Amputation of my
Abdomen, if it meant i'm a real
American, even, when, only
Ash, remains.
Acclimating in its remains
Attained, the
Articles of my pain, in
Affluent shame, next time ..
Aim... oak

[B] is for the
Bah of
Black sheep, and
Bit¢hes, fat cats,
Bombarded in the
Bastion of
Berating the
Be-seech, of
Brains, to feel
Bad, about the
Blotching of
Binary codes, erroding, the
Blanked out
Books, of
Back the
Bank rolls of
Betterment, from the
Back of the
Bus, as i'm
Busting guts, in the
Butts, of *****
Benched, but
Beautiful, in the
Battle, in the
Bane, of existence.
Baffled, in the strain of
Belligerence, in
Beating the
Butchery into
Brains, in
Bouts, of
Bobby's for
Bags of
Before, affording to
Bombs, is just
Bottles on the
Benefactors of
Bashing with the
Beaks, of
Birds, with no
Bees. just a
Being, trying to

[C] is for the
Courting the
Choreography, in
Circumventing the
Contrivance of
Calibrating, to the
Contours of
Celebrating the
Cylinders of
Correcting the
Calculations, of
Coughing, in
Coffins of
Cobble stones, from
Catacombs, in the lands of the
Capturing the
Claps of thieves, sneaky
Cats, of greed. its
Comedy. oh
Comely, to my
Cling of
Cleanliness, and for your self

[D] is for the
Dip *****, as they
Deeper in the
Deliverance, of
Dying to
Delivered in the throws of
Defiance of
Demeaning that which
Deems the
Dormant of the
Dominant, to be
Demons of
Dooming us for
Deploy the,
Damsels in
Defiled and
Detestable and
Dead. in the thump of
Dumbing down the
Debts of,
Dire regrets.
Dissect the
Daisies of,
Disillusion, in the current
Diluting night into
Disconnecting the
Dots of the
Dichotomy, and arming me, in the
Diabolatry, of,
Demonology, as i watch me
Dwindle away, the

[E] is for
Everything in nothing,
Eating the
Enigmas of
Exceeding in the
Essence of
Escaping the
Elegance of the
Elements in the
Eccentricity of
Exhaling, the
Exostential blessings, of inner
Entities, and renouncing the
Enemies of my
Easily to appease
Extracting the lost
Embers of
Enlightenment, in
Excited delight, but to later
Entice, the fight, and
Escape, like a thief into the night of
Entering the
Exits of
Elevators leading no where, to
Elevate, this useless place,
Encased in malware in the
Errors of
Every man,
Enslaved, of flesh and
Enveloping the core of
Everything, that matters,
Enduring, the chatter, of
Ever present in
Ever made to take

Funk the
Ferocity of
Fandangos, with
Fooled in the
Fiasco of
Falling through the
Farms of
Flying in the
Fame of
Fornicating on the
Fears of
Fish getting their
Fillet of
Feel me in the

Granted with
Giblets of
Gratitude and
Greeting the
Goop and
Gleaned from the
Glamour of
Ghouls in
Gillie suits,
Getting what they
Going, in the
Gallows of a
Gaffed by

Hello to the
Horizon of
Hilarity, in
Hope of
Happy, to
Heave from
Heifers, to
Help the
Hobos in
Horror, to
Honor the
Habitats of
Herbalising the work
Horse, named
Have Not, in the
Houses of

Ignore the
Idiots, too
Illiterate to
Indicate the
Instances of
Idiom in the
Inaccuracy of
In the
Intellect of
Irritated with the
Illusion of
Illustrated upon the
In the
Illumination of

******* the
Jokers, and
Jimmy the
Jerkins from their
Jammie's, in
Jousting off the
Jumps, in
Jokes, and
Jukes of
Jesting for
Jury's to
Judgment from the
Jeans of

**** the
Keep of
Kool aid men,
Kept in the
Kilometers of
Knifing the
Knights of
Keeling over the
Keys of
Kaine, with the
Kick of a

Love the
Levity, in the
Laments of
Levitating in
Living in
Laps, of
Looping, but
Lacking the
Loom of the
Locked with
Leeches of the
Leering of
Limbs, that
Lash at the
Lessers in
Loot of
Lost letters,
Lest we
Learned in the
Lessons of

Marooned in
Masqueraded as
Memorization's of
Mantras, but
Mikha'el the
Mundane, who is
Mused of
Mangling the
Monitor, but
Maybe just a
Moniker of

Never to
Navigate the
Nether of
Not to
Nit pic the
Naivety of
Neither take
Name the
Noise of
Nats in the
Nights of
Napping in the
Nets of

Ominous in the
Omnipotence of
Orifices in
Offers of
Ordinances in
Optionally an
On-call Oracle, in

Perusing the
Pedestals of
Pursuing the
Plumes of
Piety with the
Patience of a
******* on the
People with the
Pianos of
Portals, in the
Points in the
Pats of
Poor, but

Quick to
Qualify the
Quitter for a
Quill in
Quivering of
Queried in the
Quakiest of
Quarantined to a
Quadrant, of
Questing the
Quizzing of

Relax in the
Relapse of
Realizations, and
React with
Racks of
Rock to
Rate the
Rep of the
Roar in
Rendering of the
Readiness in the
Rallying, of the
Refracting of
Realigning, the
Rearing of the
Realm, and

Steer the
Serenity in
Sustainability, and
Slither through the
Seams of
Secrete the
Sobriety of
Salivating upon a
Slew of
Supplied in
Slain in the
Steam of
Sadly, i

Titans in
Turbulent in
Teething of
Telemetry of
Tortured of
Told in
Turrets of
Terribleness, from
Tikes unto
Toys for
Thrusted upon by the
Tyranny of

Unanimous is the
Ugliness in the
Undertones of
Undergoing the
Unclean in the
***** of
Uplifting the
Ushers in
Undergoing the
Ultra of

Venial in
Viciousness of
Vilifying the
Vials of
Villainy in the
Veins of
Validity of
Violence, is
Valiant in the
Vacationing of

Whelp in the
When you can
Wave to the
Whipping Where the
Whimsical Were
Way back in the
Wellness of
Whip its,
Wrangling my
Worms, as
War shouts are
Wasted in the
Walks of

Xenogogue, of
Xeons, turn
Xyphoid, in the
Xenomenia of my
X, my
Xenolalia of
X, to
***. im lost in the
Xenobiotic zen of
Xerces, on a
Xebec to the
X on the map.
Xenogenesis, in the
Xesturgy of my

Yearned from
Yielding, to the
Yodel of
Yeahs, to the
Yapping of
Yanks, over
Yucking it up with the
Yawn of a

Zapped from a
Zone i
Zoomed with
Zeal in the
Zig and
Zag of my
Zest, upon a
Zionist, or
Zeros or ones, just
Zip your
Zip locked. and
this is a work in progress
KILLME Feb 2014
steaming hot water scoured
my thoughts away in the shower
above the demons I towered
until their insults were too dour
and while I thought I possessed more power
I found myself wither and cower
next, Bright red bloomed a flower
Lauren Apr 2019
By. Lauren

And yet another.
The place I'm at.
The place where my world spins.
The place where I can't look at food.
The place where I've lost 20 pounds.
The place where my blood is drawn.
The place where the world can see I am sick.
I am living in relapse
After relapse.
It just seems like an endless pit of sick.
I have been too sick to write.
Josephine Oct 2014
I built a home between his hip bones
Though I don't visit all too often
It is a sanctuary
Not the only one but my first true sin
Bruised skin
Flesh on flesh
I swear god put him on this earth just as a test
To watch me give in
Again and again
I can't say no
I can't pretend
You found my frail self screaming, crying on your bathroom floor
We spilt the the wine of life
You striped me of my bile covered clothes
Dragged me to shower
You sat there stroking my head for what felt like 24 hours
Oh the taste of relapse
Smells of cigarettes and silence
Feels like hitting the wall and then being buried under the bricks
In and out in and out
Regain consciousness
Look in the mirror
Take another hit
Sitting in that dimly lit room full of mirrors and couches
Memories, more memories
We sat together, limbs entangled
We thanked god for that white powder
We cursed at lucifer for our delicate addiction
Feel the burn
"I missed you so much"
Maybe once again I'll visit the home between your hips
And we'll fall in love again
Oh the taste of relapse
So bitter sweet
"I can smell the chemicals on your skin, let's give in"
Julian Jul 2016
Hip Service
By Julian Malek

The zeal of cobblestone tolerance arrayed in fashionable hues masquerading as crimson secrecy, elevates the tide of man but some boats leak in their foundations. Therefore a cork to every exuberance and a triumphant torch for every sorrow lives onward in collective time. Larks that abound because prescience and PUGET sound, that brown has become the new orange which in turn prowls as a concealed swarthy black. To antagonize the willful and frenetic pace, a prodrome of lasting but memorialized disgrace. Should I move to a state by first or last name, or is the final appellation worthy of much more lasting fame. I scurry down the aisles, bemused by shimmering tiles and the beguiled audiences who see much in my limitation but doubt little about my debited elation. Ringmaster Barnum, how much horticulture is needed for assured superstardom, how many cloisters must we evacuate from the incendiary plumes of a metaphorical Harlem..  But know that no virtual reality can supplant the reality that does truly exist, or at least our time is too infernal and purblind to resist. Carrey the tops of mountains in the humor of wellsprings and fountains, we engage a menagerie of egos lilting of an etiolated pragmatic concern. Evicted from paradise, littered with say-cheese demise ensnaring three blind mice eaten alive by snake-eyed vice. To feel good without incorporated tyranny, we must see blue and red as alternatives to the same destiny. A world that reckons with the futilitarianism of pacified malcontent and astroturf monikers that lead the impressionable into a slaughter shed. Established or not, any enchantment under the sea must include fishes once a pastiche of me, but to them I avoid their courtesy flush and never even faintly blush as my egalitarian statements are lavish thrush.

Five TO Won baby one in 99, everyone here aboard the titanic stays alive, you got your boat baby and I got mine, gonna make it with babies numbered in surreal primes. Halt the slots game the nines, a stitch in time is going to turn out to be Mine. Flanger goals, girded piles, liminal like an aborted Harry Styles, we climb mountains we issue tithes, and the turmoil is etched into 45-notched bludgeons and two-tucked knives. Excuse you, where have you been all day, have you been sauntering in a gentle rain or a genteel pain, have you wallowed beyond the mires of doubt and ranked above David Blaine. I hope you tell me of your magic tricks, rather than your other flicks endeared I stand to fight an ineradicable itch. But if not, you placid pond dented by so many rocks and so many ripples give your heart over to me, before I clinch the special Olympics *******, we ran, we span the homespun garments of your left and right hand, but death is a specter that ghoulishly carouses along the carousel terminal disease we call life. I beseech your deepest affection and want to console you for your deepest struggle, to be there every time wed with time rather than a throttled scuttle. Moons make you guarded but maroons leave me desiccated, don’t ever let that wilted flower die, always water it with a rich but gentle ties and widened deck for all to at once marvel and pry.  Monsters of Mars Attacks once flanked my bed, as though the **** brain scared every gooseflesh and restrained every frisson of mystery. I lampoon myself for those cold Dark Knights and the protection ended by the plight of the poor mattering nothing to the deliberately internecine rich. I struck gold in a valley somewhere, an oxymoron of paradox that now you have the privilege to dock, to stay aboard to be a vessel of peace less widely deplored. Even if we don’t sprout wings, we garner the exactitude of measured things and our glass elevator though easily shattered by the glower of enslavement is actually our vista to heaven or listening to brethren tingles for rich mans trinkets and other things. For humanity deserves a legend and a princess, a regimented desuetude and a flanged lust but in our mistakes wildly flouted in momentary moments we become purified by the temptations of an alabaster palace.

***** the left-field wisdom of a pragmatic paragon ellipsis in prison, slip between the cracks and let my suburban muse become your urban ruse. To enchant a caged world beyond a reality delicately and deliberately unfurled. Squirming toads on highways enchanted but dead, are graves for the blue becoming purple in every dignified red. Gainsay assaults me with platitude, a repeated hitter quit on the first bunted ball into foul-line territory. Those gripes are swiped right in all circumstance no matter the plight. The pronged hearing of a trident sensitive to ambient collection, and suddenly we are all in the mad house even though the house of profaned pain is much worse. Glimpses of gambits that gambol for nickels in transit as occult grenades and known dice waddle through without artifice or device, and the laughter and slaughter that trains collegiate minds, differs no more than the tropes of a glamorous violence articled in sordid rhymes. This surfing movie means so much more than Surf Wax America pristine in limited but sacrilege nirvana. Teen spirits smell muskier than 90s pop dreams, the grasp and grunge of gouged eyes becomes a mummified staid, a scarecrow to those who disobey. Childhood flashes with blinding light, and new sight illuminates darkening blight, A blight eradicated only by two magazines and including one that houses the bullets that ***** themselves between death and comatose dreams both within astral sight. Littoral harbor on a seaside town, a shanty with a brackish gown that glides the gourmand to the cosmopolitan eatery on the outskirts of lost & found. But forever lost in embonpoint and forever gained in chavish that exonerates the gaunt, the etiolated prince in heart becomes irrefutable marrow in minded souls.

If I am a spy you are an ESPY, and if I cry than you are a baby,but since neither are the case my wiseacres will cultivate lava lamp dreams for a new generation and suddenly Boston bets on Harvard, but who knows of this piped blather squirming for relevance rather than voguish but temporary chatter. My regatta knows how to swim, my life now knows how to cringe and yet still win and in stilted plays of bungled sincerity the God of peace reminds us of our transcendent personalities. That we in sincerity top the barnacles of invention a novelty but a rarity. But the guillotine quill of emboldened unscripted parvenus ruthless in their eager dues, outdate and outlive the sued swayed blues that indemnify Clinton and make the atomic dog an amazing Winston hill a church often in sheltered disuse. Imps and urchins sting the sentiment, cloy the alimony of repentant betterment, but neither touches the gilded skies of pleonasm striving for raspy disguise as to dissuade further diatribe investigation. Lurking in those scared days of youth, the gore of unalloyed horror scourged me with a limp, that compassion itself could ever become a gimp. Now years later athletics better and scoring goals making the mildew sweat and the years wetter, not a global warming that can be alarmed by global mourning. Take peace at heart if distanced spears of separation make Idiocracy as a pastiche look exceedingly smart. And spar only with the true antagonists bridging malevolence with expedience. Killjoys sure, will joy even more sure, but still boys fluttered heart stopping dead at a stop-watched alarm the worst tragedy of our sordid sort. Give an African Child a real home rather than a spatial roam, a palatial desiccation of momentary Jonas Brothers snapping back at captives with sexualized foam.

Narrative blinds shuttered in an Island among mountains hardly ever wiser to sanitize the sanitarium among the wasps of stung power. Police crumple their uniforms as they prowl down the avenues, looking for misfits and widened platitudes. Somehow that the vigilance of those corrupted by their very career choice, look even worse when megalomania of private is the limelight of public, to their defense few turrets I can muster but castles in the sky will be the apartheid judge. Those that cling to virtue to eradicate Porsche-driven faked or real deaths at the most breakneck speed, that Fast & Furious operation if disclosed completely would turn the Shire of the ring into the hatred curtailed by a song in Sing-Sing. Immunity must not Yoda implore, that livery Liverpool marooned on islands can also to deplore the R.E.D. and still whet the sharpened stead and the fly-by-night Manchester United alights like militant peer pressure for wranglers in tights. But beating the Beatles at a game of Walruses and egg-shelled eyeful towers likely impedes rinkside hockey from anything over bellicose ballyhoo…it exists as a transient fixated glower. But who knows about soccer speculation when love is the transcendent temptation, when nest-egg hens rather than neglecting rig Bens of clockwork and clocked words designed arise better for their token ken. Do I must repeat the subtext of submarines, yellowed as though ugly unused as though unseen, as though the quixotic earthquakes of tintinnabulations Avatar dreams. Wafted souls console the disheartened thoughts of a dashed dream that Berlin hates more than a Furor’s unbridled and useless scream.
Demotic clips slinging from the bedridden silence of a token moon and its token friends, swimming in a shore of ambiguity whether history mellows or whether its furor melts away momentary doubts. I want to avoid the sting rays exorcised by due providence and become the amalgamated talents gentry and of course the upstart swagger of Jack Dawson. But with the psy-op going on, the people manipulated on all sides of a gray picket fence will the relationship bloom without muttered dissent or pretended smiles. Will we take upon the shuffled shuttle and dig with shovels deep-rooted Christmas trees and toast our lives to Dos Equis. We may never go out of style, but the treacle of illuminated imagery when divorced from sentiment bristle shows a swagger that prioritizes rather than amalgamates all love. I love being brash and brazen and honest because when she finally ditches the grandstand of delayed frenemies fandoms of other tinsel decorations without any substance beyond meretricious thrill. You want a roller coaster on some days, but most often you want the nutcracker to elope to secret hiding places. Swim with adventure not just in love, not just in affection with the starlight now matter how luminous, sixpence all the richer is no centuries any poorer and we could be that gilded couple of star and screen and if we ever have to scream, let our screams unite us in passion, rather than a milquetoast deference to pedestaled beauty. but of course the end times don’t laugh at your crumpled wizened relapse. Not out of convenience wed by a discriminating genetic harvest moon but a deeper engagement that flatters when stylish and bristles when romantic but never defiled, never riled of specious pretense. Promise me that you will always remember me in my flaws and my faults, in my scause factory destructions and the penults of PEN-ULTIMATE wisdom that comes before the grace of God in the annihilation of passion for eroded omission. If your goal is to be remembered, check that out…but the most admirable goal is as the propinquities of souls dusted in the wind returning to a spring equinox of passion and if you find in yourselves reservations do not depart from sacred land, and never jilt me because of a boisterous and menacing friend. You are everything to me right now, and I Hope this persists despite the vicissitudes of star-favored afflictions mixed with utter benediction without the pontification of stilted Benedictines  or rather the hyped ludic effrontery of termagants being made of younger and younger women. Leave it at this ,32 leaves the royal secret in royal hands and the Knights Templar and us we altogether hold hands, if only a prelude for a masquerade ball. But the stilted embarrassment of crestfallen time, let that be relegated and emphatically lets embrace what is like to not ever need a real white horse to get back into your favor, because we never go out of style we can brandish the best elements and reject the sentiments of the too newfangled and the too stodgy. We in our crenellated pleonasm can eager ride the lightning to another tomorrow and another yesterday and if even not that, we virtually make an indelible impression of embroidered love not too distant in ivory towers and not to vulgary( catering to popular sentiments) to become a trash glam movement. We soar, others deplore but let their purblind doubts render them blind to our burgeoning love.

Forget the brisk trees dangled in the wind on winding paths through haunted forest or remember them because of ghoulish fortress but with our apotropaic lamp we can avert most evil and call the rest fun and gains and shun but fames never profaned, never inalterable a destiny to magical to be some whimpered catcall. Or we could linger beneath lambent street lights disguised as though wilted garb, attrition of circumstance waiting patiently for the matinee and the vintner to escort us beyond the garb of pretense in a city so abundant with it that it deserves castigation. But I digress, a beachside cliff overlooking tepid waters tumultuous in their power but august in their noises, the cadence of love will sing a half-moon bay on full-moon nights and we will frisk each other like grasping at straws of permanent tracks trammeled of the elite and a sidetracked basque bet. Trim those antlers and instead grow metaphorical wings, to us we all sing but few can match your elegance and everyone would be crazy not to see your ennobled age and together thrilling songs to emulate thriller in sales we will collaboratively sing.
Haughty sneers from lifeless lycanthropy straggling furtively along the pastiched sidewalks of grime, livid because they can’t share the lingering limelight, with as many guarded perks of privacy clambering like a hive of snarky sharks. Lets ditch the big town dreams in terms of posh and stature if only for a caressed moment beneath the unadulterated stars and if you find spars **** to the extent they are amiable than I say guess what my name is Lars! Or wait a second, paused in the big city spotlight our stenciled hearts will guide whatever progeny is yours or mine or ours together we will sing the most comforting lullaby, and caves no longer must we abide. Yearn and earn every inch, as I gripe with my delicate saddened pinch but I think the innuendo speaks . Ripen with our trips to Napa, long afternoon sunsets swim in our hearts as we taste the vanguard’s toast on elegant wine.I console with entreaty to disavow the omen of that San Franciscan church October 2008, the doom implied by Einstein, the raillery of a world grinding down the endless decadence of a railed future inalterable in destiny or partialy amenable to widespread coquetry.

Forget those rumbles in your past that made you feel partial to insecurity and learning the ropes you transcended all and live in all eternity. Thimble and brook, tolerant of all those tokes I took your rebellious side flattens the yeast of Exodus raspy in its begrudged clapping. But the Pharaoh of the modern world sheltered me under his prickly thorns, shielded me from the sickly things that life adorns. We have the numbers on our side, the weight of destiny on our shoulders, dedicate yourself to yourself and I will preen the most vibrant wisdom and love will leap like Apollo across all borders not for camel-****** hoarders. We are culminated destiny in the wings of the best daydream
Life, Love and No Mathematics to God and Gain
When the beating sun can't warm my clammy skin.
I am losing this **** fight.
I see her smirk, she knows what I know.
She alone can make me right.
And though I reap just what I sow,
I never thought my chest could feel so tight.
All at once I hear her say, "You can give up, That's okay."
I finally look into her eyes,
She who brought me to my knees.
Suddenly the fight within me dies.
I sink beneath her comfort seas.
Alaina Moore Oct 2019
It's a word that keeps coming up.
Get it?! Keeps coming up?
It's something that makes us think of substances and addiction.
A narrow view of a massive crisis.
As it festers and grows, you ignore it.
It spins webs that sew into you until more fiber is relapse than progress.
Eventually leading you to the same place it always does.
A self fabricated wall with no ropes, ladders or shovels to aid in moving past the barrier.
Spanning to a wider view you'll find that relapse is a state of mind.
Toward the diet, the feeling, the mood, the bad habit, the obsession, the perspective or the substance.
Though it is a repeated journey attempting to best tbe barrier via the same path is a path to nowhere.
Be creative, be different, be confident, find the energy and want to change.
That is the path away from misery and repetition.
I'm currently battling falling back into a deep depression that is absolutely besting me.
Free Dec 2013
Something's very wrong
I can feel it
I hardly want to live anymore,
And I'm so close to a relapse.
Stress and hatred
And mostly self loathing
Are all taking their toll.
I just hope I won't give in to
Suicide and Relapse.
Murredith Apr 2015
One* step forward, two steps back.
Tears, bruises, panic attack.
Two steps forward, four steps back.
Screaming, shouting, way off track.
Three steps forward, six steps back.
Sitting alone in pitch black.
Two steps forward, eight steps back.
One step forward, ten steps back.
Don't you see, this is *relapse?
Sad Girl Feb 2015
"I'm better, I'm better." She lies to herself
as it hides tucked away, taped under her shelf.
"I am loved, I am loved." She convincingly yelped
as her vice hides away until she calls for help.
"I am strong! I am strong!" The poor girl carries on.
He's unhidden and waiting to come sliding along.
Drip, drip, drip. The girl's hand must have slipped
for her razor is laying, right there, where she sits.
Paola M Mar 2014
this is what relapse feels like.
sore knees, aching smiles,
bruised shins,
heart's been beating too fast,
afraid to tell mom and dad.
close the door, turn the shower on,
and bow to your master.
shove it down, get it out,
"i'm so tired, **** i'm so tired."
"keep going, keep going,
i promise it'll all be worth it."
my brother is only two rooms away,
but this,
this is the epitome of loneliness.
flush it down, unlock the door,
get out.
and start again.

this is what relapse looks like,
teenage girl with a plastered grin,
this time she's letting everyone in,
maybe she really does have to use the bathroom,
smile, smile, smile, she's full of hate.
"i'm so happy, **** i'm so happy.
recovery is going great."
rip apart the meal plan, swallow nothing but words,
they won't find out this time,
i won't let them find out.
my brother is two rooms away,
but i,
i am the most introverted extrovert.
a master of disguise, pulling the
wool over your eyes.

it's not me, i swear it's not me.
it's not me, i swear it's not me.

i haven't been me in a while.
Willow Branche Mar 2014
The cold steel glides over my throbbing flesh.
It yearns for the screams of a thousand nightmares.
It beckons to me from the darkness,
It frees me from my cage.
I answer it's call, holding it my arms like a lover lost long ago.
Reunited in a painful embrace.
This long forgotten feeling, now once again flows over my skin.
Spilling over, worthless rubies fall to the floor.
The flush cools my once screaming veins.
They whisper all together a collective "Thank you" as they fall asleep.
My precious metal friend falls to the ground.
I lay cold, dying, alone;
The screams from within me are now silent with their goal achieved.
Content, they scatter back into the darkness.
My relapse is complete.
Why are my feelings so complicated?
Things should be simple.
Did I relapse last weekend?
I can feel the hunger, the drive
to consume substance; apotheogenesis.

4ll these wor1ds inside 3ach of u5,
4ll just wyrds in 7ime.

Ate some Syrian Rue after breakfast,
Peganum Harmala, its alkaloids act as
reversible inhibitors of monoamine oxidase [RIMA].
The principle active alkaloid is Harmine.
RIMAs prevent the break-down of
some neurotransmitters.
Consequently it interacts
with most drugs, and even foodstuffs rich in tryptophan.
An informed and responsible user
can safely manage their diet to minimize adverse effects.
I must say I enjoyed that day I could feel,
Though the day after had quite a few moments of doubt.
What's more, it was interesting to get higher
as a result of simply having a meal.
I am happy with the experience.
Does my willingness mean it
is any less of a relapse?
After attenuating
the drives to
use, and now re-awaking
them,  I am left wondering
what constitutes the human.
howard brace Oct 2012
Stood rigidly to attention either side of the hearth, the two bronze fire-dogs had been struggling to maintain that British stiff upper lipidness, which up until earlier that evening had best befitted their station in life... indeed, for the last half hour at least had become brothers in arms to the dying embers filtering through the bars of the cast-iron grate, passing from the present here and now, having lost every thermal attribute necessary to sustain any further vestige of life... to the shortly forthcoming and being at oneness with the Universe... only to fall foul of the overflowing ash-pan below.  This premature cashing in of the coal fire's chips could only be attributed to the recent and prolonged thrashing from the Baronial poker... and a distinct lack of enthusiasm from the family retainer, whom it appeared, required spurring along in a like manner... and while unseen mechanisms were heard to be engaging, then resonating deep within the Hall... that unless summoned... and quickly, the housekeeper had little intention of making an appearance of her own choosing and re-stoke the Study fire while the BBC Home Service were airing 'Your 100 Best Tunes' on the wireless, leaving the heavily tarnished pendulum to continue measuring the hour.

     An indistinct mutter and snap of a closing door latch sounded in the immediate distance as the unhurried shuffle of domestic footsteps... not too dissimilar from those of Jacob Marley's spectral visitation to Scrooge... echoed ever closer along the ancient, oak panelled hallway without.  Their sudden cessation, allowing the housekeeper ingress to  the book lined Study, was by way of sporadic groans from unoiled hinges, door furniture that voiced the same overwhelming lack of attention as that of the fire-grate set in the wall opposite and presumably, from the same overwhelming lack of domestic servitude.
     "Had his Lordship rang...?" the Housekeeper wailed dolefully, giving her employer what might casually pass for a courteous bob... and in lieu no doubt, of Marley's rattling chains, padlocks and dusty ledgers... "and would there be anything further his Lordship required..." before she took her leave for the evening.  The notion of a sticky mint humbug warming the cockles of his ancient, aristocratic heart gave her pause for thought as she rummaged through her pinafore pockets, then thought better of it, after all, confectionary didn't grow on trees...  In bobbing a second time she noticed the malnourished, yet strangely twinkling coal-scuttle lounging over by the hearth, whose insubstantial contents had taken on an ethereal quality earlier that evening and had now transferred its undivided attention to the recently summoned Housekeeper, who was quite prepared to offer up a candle in supplication come next Evensong were she mistaken, but the coal-scuttle's twinkle bore every intimation of giving what appeared to be a very suggestive 'come-on' in return... and had been doing so since she first entered the room... 'and did she have any plans of her own that particular evening', the coal-scuttle twinkled suavely, 'perchance a leisurely stroll down by the old coal cellar steps...'  Now perhaps it was the lateness of the hour which had caused the Housekeeper's confusion that evening, or perhaps an over stretched imagination, brought on through domestic inactivity, but it wouldn't take a great deal to hazard that a lingering fondness for Gin and tonic played no small part towards her next curtsey, which she did, albeit unwittingly, in the unerring direction of the winking coal-scuttle.

     With the household keys as her badge-of-office, jangling defiantly from the chain around her waist, the housekeeper began inching back the same way she came, back towards the study door and freedom... and back into the welcoming arms of her 1/4 lb. bag of peppermint humbugs and the pint of best London Gin she'd had to relinquish prior to 'Songs of Praise...' and which was now to be found... should you happen to be an inquisitive fly on a particular piece of floral wallpaper... half-cut, locked arm in arm with the bottle of Indian tonic water and in the final, intoxicating throws of William Blake's, 'Jerusalem...' hic.

     "Ha-arrumph..." the elderly gentleman cleared his throat... "ah Gabby" he said, lowering his book and placing it face down upon the occasional table set beside him.  The flatulent groan of tired leather upholstery made itself heard above the steady monotony of the mantle-piece clock as he stood and chaffed his hands in the direction of the bereft fire, "Oh! I'm sorry your Lordship, then there was something...?" as she maintained her steady but relentless backwards retreat unabated, the double-barrelled bunch of keys taking up a strong rear-guard action and away from the well disposed coal scuttle... "and was his Lordship quite certain that he required the fire stoking at such a late hour..." she dared, "perhaps a nice warming glass of port and brandy instead" gesturing towards the salver, long since tarnished by the half hearted attentions of a proprietary metal polish... "and would he care for..." then thought better of offering to plump the chair cushions herself, having discovered Mort, the household mouser in the final stages of claiming them as his own, deftly rearranging the Victorian Plush with far more than any noble airs or graces.

     "Poor Mrs Alabaster, you will recall Sir, I'm sure..." a pained expression crossed the Housekeepers face as she collided with a corner of the Georgian writing bureau and bringing her to an abrupt halt... "her late Ladyships lady" she continued, indiscreetly rubbing her derriere, "whose services your Lordship dispensed with at the onset of last Winter, shortly after the funeral, God rest her late Ladyship... when you made her redundant... and how she's been unable to find a new situation ever since on account of her lumbago flaring up again, seeing as how it's been the coldest January in living memory", which in all likelihood meant since records began... "and SHE didn't have any coal either... or a roof over her head for all anyone cared... begging yer' pardon, yer' Lordship", letting her tongue slip as she attempted yet one more curtsey... "and it's wicked-cruel outside this time of year Sir, you wouldn't turn a dog out in it..." and how ordering the coal used to be Mrs Alabaster's responsibility...

     "Oh no, Sir", as she unsuccessfully stifled a hiccup...she would be only too delighted to rouse the Cook, especially after that dodgy piece of scrag-end they'd all had to suffer during Epiphany, but it was only last week that the Doctor had confined Cookie to bed with the croup... "as I'm sure your Lordship will recall..." as she attempted a double curtsey for effect, the despondent coal-scuttle now all but forgotten, "that below-stairs had been dining on pottage since a week Friday gone... and it tends to get a little moribund after almost a fortnight your Honour... and that Mrs Cotswold's rheumatism was still showing no signs of improvement either by the looks of things... and was having to visit the Chiropodist every fortnight for her bunions scraping... and how she's been advised to keep taking the embrocation as required".

     As a young woman, any disposition her grandmother may have had towards sobriety or moral virtue had quickly been prevailed upon by the former Master's son taking intimacy to the next level with the saucy Parlour Maid's good nature.   Shortly thereafter, having been obliged to marry the first available Gardener that came along, she was often heard to say "a bun in the oven's worth two in the bush" for it was with stories 'of such goings-on'  that made it abundantly clear to the Housekeeper, that it was far more than old age creeping up... and that if she didn't keep her wits wrapped tightly about her, as she threw a sideways glance at the winking philanderer... then who would.

     As for the Gardener, "well... he couldn't possibly manage the cellar steps at this late hour, yer' Lordship, wot' with the weather being the way it is right now Sir, seasonal... and him with his broken caliper... and bronchitis playing him up at every turn, even though his own ailing missus swore by a freshly grown rhubarb poultice first thing each morning", but oddly enough, "how it always seemed to work better if the young barmaid down in the village rubbed it on, especially around opening time..." even his brother, Mr Potts Senior, ever since their Dad passed away... "God rest his eternal soul", as she whirled, twice in as many seconds, a mystical finger in the air... had said how surprised he'd been to discover that it could be used as a ground mulch for seed-cucumbers... it was truly amazing how The Good Lord provided for the righteous... and even as she spoke, was working in mysterious ways, His Wonders to Behold... "Praised-Be-The-Lord".

     And how the entire household, with the possible exception of Mrs Alabaster, her late Ladyships lady, who doggedly refused to be evicted from her 'Grace n' Favour cottage...' the one with pretty red roses growing around the door, that despite a string of eviction notices from the apoplectic Estate manager... had noticed what a fine upstanding Gentleman his Lordship had steadfastly remained since her late Ladyships sudden demise... "God-rest-her-immortal-soul..." and may she allow herself to say, "how refreshing it was to have such a progressively minded and discerning employer such as his Lordship at the helm, one filled with patient understanding and commitment towards the entire household..." much like herself...

     Fearing an uncontrollable attack of the ague, which invariably took the form of a selfless and unstinting dereliction to duty and always flared up at the slightest suggestion of having to roll her sleeves up and do something... which incidentally, was the first mutual attraction by common consent to which her parents, some forty years earlier had discovered they both held in tandem... and "would his Lordship take exception..." feigning a sudden relapse as she gestured towards the nearest chair, were she to take the weight off her feet... she plonked herself solidly upon the Chippendale before his Lordship could decline... "perhaps a recuperative drop of brandy" she volunteered, "just for medicinal purposes", she swept her feet onto the footstool, then crossed them with a flourish that would have caused Cyrano de Bergerac to hang up his sword... "the good stuff, if his Lordship would be so kind, in the lead-crystal decanter... over in the corner by the potted plant", she caught sight of the adjacent cigarette box, also tarnished... "just to keep body and soul together, may it please 'Him upon High'..." and just long enough to brave the coal cellar steps and refill the amorous scuttle... "if only it were a little less chilly", she gave an affected cough... on account of her diphtheria acting up again, she felt sure that his Lordship understood...  Moving over to one of the book lined alcoves, the elderly Gentleman lifted several tomes from the shelves... 'My Life in Anthracite', an illustrated compendium' "to begin with, I think... followed by... hmm!" 'The History of Fossil-Fuels, a comprehensive study in twelve breath taking volumes' "and we'll take it from there" as he threw the first on the barely smouldering embers...

                                                      ­     ...   ...   ...**

a work in progress.                                                        ­                                                         1859

— The End —