#AddictionPoetry

[wouldntyoulikeyoknow]

“Empty Tabs”

I light the screen like a cigarette flame, Familiar clicks, but it’s never the same. Faces I don’t know, names I won’t learn, A ritual repeated just to feel the burn.

Not fire on skin, not touch or embrace— Just echoes of bodies in digital space. I chase a high that's hollow and thin, Every climax leaves me lonelier again.

It’s not desire, not really—not love, Just a ghost I keep feeding when push comes to shove. A symptom, a scratch I can't stop bleeding, A stand-in for warmth, for actual meaning.

Each night I promise, “Tomorrow I’ll stop.” Then I scroll past the guilt 'til my soul wants to drop. It’s not the porn, it’s the silence it hides, The ache of an empty place no clip can disguise.

I don’t want pixels—I want a hand. Not just to hold, but to help me stand. I want someone’s laugh, not synthetic moans, But here I sit, addicted and alone.

[disruptivebychoice]

I can only explain it as addiction

The part of my mind

The one I try to hide

But it beats against the time

A year has gone by

And still its voice remains

Telling me lies

It sinks into my skull

Repeating thoughts to fool

A defeating game

Sick and shame

With the finger pointed at me

When I look in the mirror

And it’s me who I see

Telling me the blame

The guilt said with my name

Because I can’t somehow explain

What it is I’m trying to say

I can only find words

That describe this in voices

Ones of several

With lips made by the devil

Each an appointed sin

A filth that once filled within

A substance for each

Taking me as they preach

But inside is inner wisdom

The one I listen to

The heart that does teach

But it finds me hard

Because I want to discard

Escape and leave the fate

The fate that was determined

By a wanted clean slate

My hope is for one day

Them to subside

Their ways of invading my mind

Their taking over

With decisions they decide

Using such a niche of precision

They use words and division

Choosing parts to move across

The memories, the trauma

The shame, the drama

The boredom, the sorrow

The treachery, the manipulating

The pains, the hopes for tomorrows

Or landing on just me

The person I always want to see

But can’t

Because my reflection

Is sometimes taunted

As they highlight what I wish

To just dismiss

The flaunted

The self-esteem that’s haunted

How it switches my mind

With vitality it does find

But yet,

I choose to lose

The oxygen I breath

For something poisonous

Because it doesn’t deceive

I know what it is

I know how it works

But this, this addiction device

Has my mind interrupted with each past vice

Maybe one day I’ll know peace

This is so,

I truly believe

But when will it be my time,

To fully receive?

The clock is ticking on

The longer shuts me off for wrong

I tell myself one day

Each time I kneel down to pray

But the next morning

It follows,

As always the same

The repeating, the game

The guilt, the shame

I try to outsmart

But they go bigger

Outdebating my part

I can’t compete

With an addict mindset

No matter how far I beg

Or plead, or wish to leave

It’s engrained within me

So its truth I grieve

Finding sadness I want to numb

Because the inexplainable

Is explained

Just differently

Than perspectives of the sane

To get it,

You’d have to be insane

Because its not the player,

It’s the game

[amafallingdown-blog]

It occurs to me that It would have been all too easy For my story to end like his. Hundreds of times vomiting, wiping my mouth and carrying on until it was all gone. Being sick wasn't the end. How strange it is to me that a man whose tolerance far surpassed mine is the one the beast took down. Wrestled him to the ground and pinned him there. But he was so much stronger than me. My bionic man, metal parts and childhood scar stories. He had lived his teenage years keeping his mother forever holding her breath. An addiction was the most terrifying prospect yet. A true beast. I watched it ravage him like a lion on a gazelle and still, I have the urge to pet it. Feed it from afar in hopes it will someday let me have a casual relationship, visit on the weekends and ruffle its mane with my fingers. I am not afraid of beasts. I am afraid of the way I want to befriend them and invite them home.

~Abbie Holden "It Occurs to Me"

[disgustingly--mundane-blog]

Coffee

You have this bad habit,

You see,

Of coursing through my veins.

Of leaving a deliciously bitter-sweet aftertaste,

In the back of my throat.

You always manage,

To leave a lump in the back of my throat.

To leave my body shaking.

Heart racing.

My heart is always racing.

Only with you,

There is this intoxicating illusion,

Of control.

I think,

This addiction,

May be out of control.

~ disgustingly--mundane ~

[kthirtythr33p-blog]

#heroin #poetry #drugpoetry #wordart #poetrynetwork #soulquote #wordsofwisdom #wordsbyheart #photo #nature #beach #addiction #writeitout #poetlife #mypoetry  #poetry #poem #addictionpoetry #twaddiction #twdrug addiction #twdruguse #Darkpoetry #understanding  #f4f #grow #bleakpoem #aa #recovery #onestepatatime

[ofloveandabscesses]

Friendly Concern

I learned later that when he  saw me dancing  with you, he said                          to all your friends:

“Whatever you do don’t let him go home with her.” I want to be angry, I do but it’s hard to be         indignant  when I am her, the girl they all warned you about.

the girl who sucks up all the energy in the room and spins it and shreds and throws your whole day off it’s axis

the girl with one ear on a beat you can’t pick up while she trips  through life ambivalent towards this world or the next the girl with smeared crimson lips forming empty lies in the acrid morning light the girl who lifts her skirt and sucker punches what you  thought was truth untll now the girl dissolved without a  purpose and blind to anyone else’s

the girl  who will keep you up all night with the contents of her broken mind when you have to work in the morning the girl you don’t dare get complacent with she’ll sniff that shit out like low lying bad blood

the girl who would swallow pins before she would start taking things face value  (she’s half convinced she’s dreaming you, anyhow)

the girl you’d say had the crazy eyes

but she’s defied categorization so far but there’s some mad thing inside them you can tell is taxing the girl who marches to dreams unearthly and unwoven

and

of course you will fall in love with her

it’s not your fault her pleaful look has disarmed ones with  intentions less pure than yours look elemental and ocean deep she’ll pull you to the bottom ask you to hold her while the chasm it  moves right on through her

There’s a reason they warn you about girls like me.

They know  your tender heart will allow the girl to drag you to the bottom of the sea

if that’s where she says she needs you to be.

[mybrosisyphus]

Resurrection Song

Sylvia Plath named herself Lady Lazarus.

Now I’m no Sylvia Plath

not even close

but she doesn’t own the trademark on

inglorious resurrection.

 When it comes to lives,

I’m sure I’ve used up eight of nine

Unsure of what to do

with all this borrowed time.

 Coming back from the dead,

now that’s the easy part

Ragged linens falling to the ground,

another layer of pride peeled away

One step closer to transparency.

 I’m awfully good at it, starting again

A choreographed dance I’ve mastered

Saying by rote the same old lines

Recycled, previously worn contrite.

 Did Lazarus want to stay entombed?

Safe in the arms of no more hope

No one asked, did they?

Too focused on the miracle

The big event

No glamour in growing old

 I wanted it, more than I’d care to admit,

the tragic heroin death

Romantic

Life cut short at its climax

Where’s the poetry in approaching middle age,

with not much to show for it?

 “She had so much potential! How sad.”

To have to step into the formidable shoes

of this supposed potential

And find it as

Nietzsche’s dead god is

A platitude lacking substance

that has outgrown its purpose,

nostalgia for something never realized.

 (After all, nothing is more boring than requited love)

 Better for it to remain just out of reach

Let Lazarus lie,

and dream of what could have been

The sun is too bright, outside

Too many onlookers

 A heroin death – now that’s easy

Any idiot can do it

But what to make of it, this?

When the mind finally clears and

all you know,

your reality thus far

was as Plato’s shadows on a cave wall?

 And you almost yearn for

the hell you’ve known for so long

Familiar pain, routine

You’re an expert in the field.

Too much gets in, too much

has always gotten in

and now your shield is gone

You’re far too permeable to go on like this for long

 The humming brain

The wailing soul

The ache behind the heart

The loneliness no company can fill.

 Sylvia knew of these things.

And Hemmingway. And Kerouac. And Bukowski.

They drank and invited death in.

The only things to rub out the awful stupid clarity.

Was it cowardly of Nietzsche to retreat into madness?

Or was it a necessary thing

Too much enlightenment brings destruction

to the fragile human mind

 My soul thing beats its wings

against my ribcage

A blackbird with no purpose,

no set course.

 Hemmingway said writing is easy –

Just sit at a typewriter and bleed

So I shed my salty lifeforce

on a keyboard

but the blackbird only gets more frenzied

seeking out a truth that is impossible to know.

 Attempting a chronology for crisis

Looking to weave the sad, degrading, pathetic

moments into some sort of poetry

As if poetry can save this squandered life

Redeem all the hurt I’ve caused

Make amends to all the casualties of

my many years’ race

away from that monstrous thing

The unnameable dark

That trails me, closer than my shadow.

 Tired of waxing philosophical

Back to what to do with it,

this half-desired time.

 I do what many do, in my shoes

Get a tattoo

In middle of a battlefield

With a brain that stubbornly takes me

where I don’t want to go

My body, at least

is mine

to brand as I please.

 Sylvia knew it

how Lazarus, miraculously resurrected

given the most precious gift – life

could spend it trying to return

to his tomb

And how she, after beating death

All those times

would arrive,

at the end of it all

kissing

a gas oven.

[bearrwrestlerr]

Internally Screaming

Look at what I have done to myself Look at how I am destroying myself The worst kind of self mutilation Inner self harm It wilts away my innards And at first you couldn’t see How my body so hates me My bones have a constant ache And each rib pokes out more each day My lust for food and pleasure are long gone And my so called happiness depends on a dose I am beginning to believe I am a ghost My brain scrambles for words for help But there is no use It is rotting away just as fast as my dignity And still I cannot stop Each craving for another pill pop Words of self hatred are whispered in my ear Every time I give in to temptation I am killing myself without any remorse And the once intelligent, curious little girl Fell into the wrong spot I need to escape this sinful place I need to find another pace Before I lose this barren race

- Sierra (bearrwrestlerr)

[bepeaced]

My Tumblr Activity: I lied?

Today I am a puddle.

Today I lied.

Today I’m missing my friend.

So, Today I write.

Why?

Where?

Why?

Today.

Tomorrow?

Will there be?

YES!

YEEEEEES!

Please?

Who am I begging to?

What am I begging against?

What am I betting on?

On a wish?

No, on a truth.

A recovery Truth.

My Truth is: that I cannot fully break.

I live so presently my break looks like this.

My truth is: I am missing my friend.

My friend is missing.

My Friend.

Friend.

No My.

No ownership.

Control through tolerance?

Obedience?

Silent Treatments?

Nonobservance?

Avoidance?

CONTROL THROUGH TOLERANCE.

TOLERATE… LOVE.

LOVE.

Express, love.

LOVE.

EXPRESS.

Consider those things.

Expression and love in the present

Not past.

No one can win in the past.

And there is no competition in the present.

There is only love.

LOVE.

LOVE?

LOVE.

LOVE.

A puddle.

A PUDDLE.

A puddle of love.

Swim with me?

There is no such thing as drowning…

Because there is only healing.

Swim with me in a vat of love.

[kthirtythr33p-blog]

#heroin #poetry #drugpoetry #wordart #poetrynetwork #soulquote #wordsofwisdom #wordsbyheart #photo #nature #beach #addiction #writeitout #poetlife #mypoetry  #poetry #poem #addictionpoetry #twaddiction #twdrug addiction #twdruguse #Darkpoetry #understanding  #f4f #grow #bleakpoem #aa #recovery #onestepatatime

[ofloveandabscesses]

Zeitgeist

I have come awake, finally to be a voice for all of us whose tongues were torn out and sold months ago for a fix. A voice for us who are literally dying at your feet while sandwich boards announcing 30 percent off at Lululemon line the streets

dying…

…while you ruminate  on the popular cause  of the day and yes, it is outrageous that Bolivia’s poor can no longer afford to eat their traditional, nutrient dense superfoods, that they are victims of terminal trendiness. Yes, that is certainly sad. But don’t forget to see the ones at home whose children are being taken away because they can’t feed the darkness long enough to focus on abstract things, like love or dignity.

And you celebrate your love of hand crafted organic microbrews at outdoor street festivals without seeing the man begging for nickles  down the street for something to  arrest  the shameful tremors in his left hand.. And you argue passionately for plain packaging on cigarettes, with the same fervent and erroneous logic used to hide women behind the burka. If out of sight really is out of mind, go ahead and  look past the ones scooping up a butt while pretending  to tie a shoelace, blushing and and mute. and you can withhold your pocket change with minimal guilt knowing your tax dollars are working hard to save their very LIVES. You were a vocal supporter  of safe injection sites, penned out a letter to the editor in your head, blissfully ignorant of what a revolting misnomer it is to call them safe. Not safe. Supervised. Also methodical, hygienic, and convenient and efficient in prolonging someone’s suffering in a purgatory that looks real sexy on Netflix but is a quiet nightmare you can’t describe to  any real satisfaction a savage black pit dead end place in the alleys of this government town where lawmakers are only now  starting to consider an armistice in the war they sustained against our sickest, our most fragile. Don’t congratulate yourself too much, Mr. Politician, you didn’t save my life you only made me breathe again. And do you have  nothing to say about our young men and women their GEDs behind bars for crimes against society crimes commanded of them by the ghostly hungry thing that has hijacked the part of the brain that tells them to eat, fuck seek shelter.

So while they're using they're sobbing, beating fists on chest because those slivers of lucidity are the cruelest part the occasional stabbing vision -             that THIS IS NOT HOW IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE they did the crime and brought the gavel down on themselves and they are the  only ones I trust to tell me what the word powerless means. And we tell them (who once wanted to be astronauts, rockstars, teachers) that they chose this. They chose to live as animals in the salty dirty streets underfoot of you  who are quick to encourage your friends to boycott quinoa as if justice can be found in more equitable  distribution of goods. Just don’t give a smoke to the panhandler outside Bridgehead Like pigeons, if you feed them they’ll never leave.

[ofloveandabscesses]

Gunpoint Choices

We're too much caught up in debating  is it disease, or is it choice. But really does shell shock differentiate or  discriminate? I’m not thinking much on matters of agency when I’m dragging what pieces I’ve been  allowed to keep over gun smoke thunder bullet kissed earth. And even when  I make it a good ways past friendly lines and am as  safe as I can ever realistically expect to be, I can’t forget that my dead self hunkers always in  unlit corners waiting to  trip me up  unaware and alone and almost believing in  my own freedom with a twist of rotting prophetic fingers round my ankles this shade of a  fallen soldier who but for some  incomprehensible act of Grace is not me  today

[ofloveandabscesses]

Friendly Concern

I learned later   that when he   saw me dancing   with you, he said                          to all your friends:

“Whatever you do don’t let him go home with her.” I want to be   angry,   I do but it’s           hard  to be  indignant, when                   I am her,                       the girl they all warned you about. the girl    who sucks up    all the energy in the room, spins it    and shreds it and throws            your whole day       off it’s axis.

the girl    with one ear  on a beat   you can’t pick          up  while she trips      through life  with a         haphazard               kind of grace. the girl     with smeared  crimson lips      shaping over    lies        in the acrid              morning light. the girl    who lifts her skirt       and        roundhouse kicks    what you            thought       was truth            untll now. the girl        dissolved   without a        purpose, and     blind, to       anyone else’s

the girl     who will keep you up        all night           with the contents     of her broken mind             when you     have to work            in the morning the girl     you don’t dare get   complacent with,            she’ll sniff that      shit out              like low lying      bad blood

the girl      who would swallow  pins, before she    would start       taking things at face value            (she’s half convinced she’s dreaming you, anyhow)

the girl   you’d say had the          crazy eyes

but she’s defied      categorization          so far. (though there’s      some mad thing within them    you can tell            is taxing). the girl     who marches  to dreams        unearthly and   unwoven

and of course         you will fall in love with her

It’s not   your fault,         her pleaful look    has disarmed ones with      intentions           less pure than yours a look     elemental and             ocean deep     she’ll pull  you to       the bottom,   ask you       to hold her           while the chasm it                 moves right on through her

There’s a reason they       warn you about girls like me.

They know      your tender           heart    will allow the               girl            to drag you to                   the bottom           of the sea.

if that’s where she says she needs you to be.

[ofloveandabscesses]

Binomial Nomenclature

I speak of blood because what else to call this      boiling tar          silver sun                 molten sky      the River Styx being taken, I believe. a serpentine plasma        that animates me, that   lands me in the animal kingdom

that supports my relentless greed.           I wish I had           been karmically           placed among                the gentle herbivores but, no        avarice    sits me with the top carnivores, such avarice                      the hyena is                     ascetic                       by comparison. the crocodiles,          defiantly prehistoric, and              unapologeticly             void of empathy seem as renunciants when compared to        the reptilian hunger of the thing lying below where love takes root.

perhaps I can reframe this feeding as a devotional act, and speak of         ahimsa            with the other predators, destruction having an invaluable place in our cosmos

So I self-immolate,      an act of charity to this world, but my ash cloud       still tracks             man and beast                   alike.

[ofloveandabscesses]

You Who Made Me Laugh Again

I could love you      if you’d let me I’ve got all this love      ricocheting inside of me             an aimless wanderer       an arrow with no target.

If you’d let me, I       could cradle your life              in my hands                   (so much sadness for something so small)        and encompass it in white               light, channel all                    of the compassion                    given to me                    when I had none                    to give         (gentleness having little place in the lion’s mouth).

I’d breathe      into you           a little sigh,           another day      and treat you as            I would like            to be treated                       something precious                       something rare                             and lovely        Climb into your blackest corners              and show you there’s no need                          for shame               that without dark,                        there would be no light. when two souls recognize      one another           without filters, masks, secrets           without agendas, personas, lies now that       is what billions search for             blindly       calling out to             God, Christ, Allah, Krishna              Ahura Mazda, Buddha,                     and the like.          superfluous dogma                   empty ritual. I’ll just hold        my light            up to yours and say         “I see you”                      “And you really are OK”.

[ofloveandabscesses]

Gravity

It's a dirty trick time is playing on my body a softness and here and there gravity the indelicate tug of a natural order that allowed me to blossom and now pulls at my roots

You'd think my eyes were blue but they reflect a lead horizon an umbrageous sky indifferent to my almost curves my careless steps my soft skin - stretched over chaos

And they have trailed my not-so-secret shame have followed the circuitous lines mementos, all of when I danced along a razor's edge, left shards across so many beds (but who wants to be loved with no scars to show for it?)

My blemishes are the most beautiful parts of a life spent lost tracking false prophets frantically living while all the while dying

Took the lead from the sky ran it through my veins

My body giving way but still crying