TW: mentions of addiction


Addiction is like a game
It make you believe you are in control
“I can stop if I want”
But can you?
Can you get rid of its grasp on you
Its claws will dig in to your skin
Trying to pull you back
You will wither like a flower
And think “just 1 more time”
That 1 more time turns to 9
That 9 turns binding
The bind that will not break
If you don’t stop today
The cycle will repeat tomorrow
Like ring around the Rosie
Around and around
till you collapse
You must break the cycle
Before the cycle breaks you.

TW : references to triggering topics below

My art is not considered normal
It’s made of fine lines
The lines form rows
They tell a story
Of whom I once was
During the tears
Those tears not only lasted for year but also still last
My fine lined art has recently come to a end
Or more of a rest
Because it may start again
My fine lined art is not art
But a way to cope
A way to breathe
Yet my skin bleeds whenever I draw those lines
The fine lines are considered ugly
To the eyes of society
they will leave scars forever
But my scars are not ugly they tell a story
Of my fine lined art.

guilt and shame
eating to blame
lack of control
lack of tame
the food comes in
the fat puffs out
if only cold turkey
didn’t sound so good right now

In the warmth of a Midsummer's day
He found himself shrouded by darkness
No ray of sunshine seemed to pierce
Irony of which he hated to say

His demons were fighting for display
For years he ran, ignoring his brokenness
Breaking points came and went
All of which bore a cost he didn't want to pay

Problems compounded, as did his fierceness decay
All he wanted was empathy and grace
Time would heal he believed
His old wounds rotting, never healing

If only he could come to terms with his own insecurities
He picked the scabs that needed care
In the Midsummer's heat, the cost became clear
No one could decide his path, nor were miracles his key

Should he turn around and face the sun
Would the war be won
No crusade concludes with retreat
Confrontation was his need

Not by knife or gun ablaze
But by actions, acknowledgement, belief
What more could he say?
Would answers come by asking another?

A fool's folly, facetious belief
His upbringing was not his burden
And his reactions were not excuses
As other's actions were their own

It is with hope he comes to terms
Accepting what has come and gone
For then true growth begins
A cautious hope came again

It was on this Midsummer's day
The boy became a man
With acceptance, his demons stayed
What was more was his change

Maybe then a ray of sun
Could evolve into healing heat
Comfortably warming this newborn man
Instead of scorching the neck of the son

Black tar runs inside my veins,
seeming to consume the red blood in me.
I scream in agony as it continues to eat me alive.
Looking in the mirror, I see my face—
but I can’t feel my hands.

Obsessing, again and again, just to attain normality.
Tearing skin from flesh and bones,
desperately seeking me in all this insanity.
I hear my voice—but it’s clouded
by a much louder one.

My body is no longer mine.
My mind, a pool of tangled vines,
slithering, weaving into the nooks and crannies
of my being—
waiting to devour my whole existence.

Desperately searching for the right words,
I tear and tear myself,
skin down to the muscles clinging to bones.
****** nails. Crucified dreams.
A perception of perfection—unattainable.

A siren’s call in the distance,
luring me into the murky waters of the unknown.
The danger of unlocking the doors
that holds back my desires and ambition—
yet I brace the door
with the strength of a bull, the pride of a lion.

Clawing at the core of my being,
all my blood, skin, flesh, and bones—
gone with the wind.
Only consciousness remains.
Yet I still can’t understand this unknown world.
I couldn’t even save my mind.
These thoughts have now consumed
my whole being.


- N.V. 🥀

People look to me to solve their problems
Fix their lives, make everything okay
But what if I myself am a puzzle
An unsolvable equation
Then who gets to fix me?

Back to the earth
everything organic
yet another course correction

my soul is melting
burning away like a candle wick
crumbling like chalk

i read the words on a page
heart starting to race
"paranoia"

each person is evil
i tell myself
they have motives
that i don't know

the unconscious
leads my brain
driven by the id
about to break.

No please not again
I worked so hard
Relapse...
Just for all the progress to be washed away in a second
I worked too hard I can't give up
Relapse...
The scissors are getting closer
I'm trying not to fail
Relapse...
My breathing quickens
It feels like there is only one right answer
Relapse...

When the Red Death held sway over us all
There is no pain
There is no remorse for life
Only blood flowing down lucidly
And don’t you see?
The blood is my haven
And I seek refuge in it
Every time

When he jumps off the 13th floor
Does he feel the wind
Freeing him
Or does he see blood oozing out
As his flesh slumps in it
Like a sleeping infant?
And he seeks refuge in it
Every time

When he cut his ear
Did the blood rush to his head
Or hands first?
Did he pour it into a cup
Or let it speak lazily?

Do you bathe in the very blood
That forms you
Or eat yellow paint instead,
Van Gogh style?
Do you let the waves brush you
Or build another door
That doesn’t tower over you?
Do you let the shadows watch you
Or do you sip your drink
And wait for all your hallucinations
To come alive?

And don’t you see?
The blood is my haven
And I seek refuge in it
Every time