you know, i know this site doesn't have much place for poetry...but sometimes it's the only way to express what you're feeling at the time. i think it's a lot easier to understand whats going on inside someone by reading their poetry rather than by reading a story of their life. it's a window directly inside.
yeah, so true. thanks for reading. its just nice to see someone listens. if anyone else has a poem, post it here
Someone said,"it's just a month,
That you were oxy addicted,
Oxy may have laid you low,
But your addiction was restricted."
"You see we here have no time,
For one whose time was short,
Although that drug is powerful,
You have nothing to report."
I say, if you haven't felt the pain,
Of Oxy for a month or year,
You' don't know how it holds your soul
And fills your mind with fear.
It takes you into a desolate world,
That has no start or end,
It makes you dance to it's tune,
It proves it's not your friend,
So you try to move it from your mind,
And your body, oh so cold,
But it battles you at every turn,
And won't release it's hold.
It takes your entire inner strength,
For a month and even two,
To try to wrest from it the hold,
It has on all of you.
So don't tell me that I have'nt had,
Any experience of the kind,
Of numbness that addiction casts,
Into your soul and mind.
It took all of my inner strength,
My power and my will,
To finally break away,
From that God forsaken pill.
Oh yes, I have had my share,
Of addiction, no matter how short
A month a year a decade or two,
Is something to report.
If it helps another one,
To try to break the chain,
And free themselves of the drug,
I'll post again and again.
Now I lay me down to sleep
And how intricate is this bliss
Oh what beauty in an instant
Wrapped in red velvet delight
What a joy it gives to me
A delight so faintly altered
And the euphoria a kiss away
Seduction of the senses
Oh what a ride
A rush of venom in my veins
Better than making love, to say the least
Or, is this love we’re making?
So high, oh my, I know I can fly
Fly into the sky in sin and slumber of nigh
Stripped and salvaged by red dilly delight
So what have we here, is the high just right?
Oh another, so says mother
And father always agrees
So have a downer with a flower
And seconds, if you please
The pain dissolves in a fog
A fog of bliss and shame
But shame can’t win against bliss, my friend
So rape me as you please
And another and another and so it goes
The bliss turns to fists, and I’m out cold
Will I dream, and will I wake?
A guess much less than no one knows
But the beauty of the ride stained and pained me
And here I fall into the abyss
The darkness takes me in a second
Seconds only seconal can own
And in the endless, I’m so dreamless
Dead to the world at large
Never waking, only clinging
Grasping on to the numbness of the ever more
And now I lay me down alone
Alone to face the end
For another and another only goes
Now I lay me down to die
And in the end, would it matter
That addiction was my friend
In the end, there’s only sorrow
Wasted addict with broken shins
A murdered mind and hollow heart
What’s left to live?
In the end, the only shame
Is that there was ever a beginning, at all
Wade in the silence
The freshness of decay
The infancy of delay
The point of misery
The axis of infinity
The sadness of apathy
It’s guaranteed misanthrope
If there were ever a story to tell
The sadness dissolved it all away
The forgive-me-strings have all broken today
The music dimmed to gray
The greatest light to see
The faintest grace to be
The wh--- of heaven set free
It’s all gone supernova
i can really relate to your poem. the last couple lines i think are the reason quite a few people are here.
"So what have we here, is the high just right?"
wow, "just right". a fleeting feeling, no? like receiving an A+ for a paper, then asking the teacher to erase your memory and give it to you again, over and over
Sounds like you are really fighting for survival. What you have written cuts right to the bone. The great thing about writing poems is that they are an outlet, a way of getting things out of our system that gnaw away at you. I get great joy out of writing poems but most of mine are ironic and usually have a comedic ending. When it comes to writing in regards to addiction there is no subtle way of phrasing what you feel. You are usually letting it all hang out and that is good. The greater thing about personal poetry is the sense of relief you feel once you have unburdened yourself. Mind you this is not only in poetry but in letting others know , no matter how you post, what you are feeling and knowing that each and everyone who is caught in the same vice understands fully what it is you are saying. Most of those here have the same feelings and some are not able to express themselves as easilly as others can. Reading and identifying with what others are saying can, in some instances, bring a measure of relief also. They merely have to say,"I know what you mean," This is generally true because in saying ,"I know what you mean," they are also saying ,"Thank you for helping me say what I was unable to."
you're very right. i've written a lot of different things. hundreds and hundreds....maybe even over a thousand poems. thats not to say that all are good...or even that any are good.......but the point is when i've written about a subject as heavy as my addictions or my self hatred, there is a huge sense of relief once it's out of me. it's like satisfying an urge you don't know exists until you state it. sadly, if i'm at all good at poetry, it's only because of the huge weight of my own existance....and it seems thats all i have the ability to write about.
yeah.....the high is always so right, then it fades and you need it again and again and again.....and then there comes a point where you simply can't even get high anymore, only satisfy the urge. then after that, there comes a point where even the urge can't be satisfied. the hell of addiction seems to be that we know all of this and yet it's still nearly impossible to end the struggle once its started.
well said, i often forget those unbearable levels of addiction during my recovery, and that is a scary thought.