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Opiate addiction Support for coping with Opiate addiction and Opiate addiction treatment.

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Old 05-03-2010, 21:57
channy00 channy00 is offline
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drug addiction poems

these are poems swim wrote about drugs,
if swiy is on on drugs yourself, im sure swiy can relate to these poems, but please read becuase sometimes the truth hurts.
if swiy is not on drugs then please read the poems so swiy is aware how bad things can go if swiy does take them
if anyone else has any drug poem swim would love 2 hear it
3poems in total

poem 1 = my best friend

i have a new friend
he makes me smile
i forget my problems
and lifes worthwhile

i want him there
fuck everyone else
aslong as he stays

Ill steal off my mum
Ill lie 2 my dad
so he now is the only
friend that i have

he might make me steal
he might make me fight
but aslong as hes there
i will be alright...

i hear him laughing
as i sit all alone
ive no family, no friends
ive lost my home

he calls me a fool
he calls me a mug
i lost all i had
cuz my friend was a drug!

poem 2 = police

i look behind, i duck and dive
im paraniod, where can i hide
i hear a car down the road
i wish they wud, leave me alone

i cannot moan, i cannot whine
because i chose, the life of crime
it sounded gud, live fast, take drugs
no all the dealers, and the thugs

but no matter where you try and hide
you will get caught and go inside
all them hours in a cell
make you think, fuckin hell
why did i make all this war?
i should of just obeyed the law!

peom 3 = drugs told me! (p.s when swim was writing this swim was a lil bit fooked so it takes a bit 2 kick in)

when you are growing up
into a lass or lad
they try to teach you write from wrong
and what is good and bad

i understood most of it
like why you should not steal
if you got your stuff stolen
how would it make you feel

and how could any person
get the urge to kill
murderers used to scare me stupid
they must be mentally ill

family always come first
to them you should not lie
never say bad things to them
ud regret it if they died

school also taught us about drugs
and told us to say no
you are stupid to say yes
and could even die ya know

i had to ask a question
that was going threw my head
why are people making them?
they could make good things instead

drugs make people millions
my teacher simply sed
but why are people buying them
if thier gunna end up dead?

if i knew then
what i know about drugs now
i would of said no
but the hard way i found out

if thier just for making money..
how come my first time was free?
a dealer let me try it
i was buzzin out ma tree!

i then took drugs more and more
forgot what school had said
if drugs were really killers
then by now i would be dead

at age 16 is when i died
although i didnt no it yet
my body worked as normal
the problem was my head

i tried to bring you up so well
my mother used to cry
your not my daughter anymore
that part of you has died

right back then i was in denial
and ignored what she was sayin
i am no drug addict
and at least its me whos payin

soon lost my job, lost my friends
and all my morals to
was sleeping rough, dint giv a fuk
coz drugs i still had you

you may not of killed be properly
like i thought you would
but you killed the person that i was
now i understood

when i had no more of you
coz i had lost my job
you told me to get money
so i went out on the rob

i know i sed i would not steal
but i only stole from shops
i was not hurting anyone
it was the only choice i got

soon i had stopped thinking
of who i used to be
you told me i had no one
its now just you and me

town cameras always watching
coz i was now known as a thief
but when you was all gone again
i heard your voice tell me

its ok 2 steal off people
you will be like robin rood
i no youve got it in you
just lie and take there stuff

out the way of cameras
i looked lost and alone
asking passers by
if i could please borrow thier phone

they wernt getting thier phones back
cuz its mine to sell 4 drugs
so the ones who passed it over
i have took you for a mug

one day i ran out of you
you told me to keep cool
i saw the girl i used to be
best mates with back in school

hiya babe i shouted
thanks god that ive seen you!
my mates been rushed to hospital!
i dont know what to do!

here she said pulling out her phone
i didnt need to ask
borrow it and make a call
but she didnt get it back

when i didnt have you
i didnt feel whole
if satan was real
i would of sold my soul

i got what i wanted
and i wanted a flat
so i made 600quid
and got it like that

i loved that flat so much
but i loved drugs more
so i used my housing benefit
2 go and score

banned from all hostels
i had lost peoples trust
no one left there things around
thay had had enuf

i hit rock botton
had robbed all my friends
apart from the druggies
i met in the end

they was on my level
and it felt good to see
that they would do anything
to get drugs like me

addiction laughed at me and said
from deep inside my mind
im not going anywhere
ive got you and your mine

it said when your mother begged you
to go back to your home
i told you stay with me
but you really were alone

everyone you stole off
could of been good friends
but i told you i was better
and you belived me in the end

when you slit your wrists that time
when things were getting bad
i told you to cheer up
and take all the drugs you had

when your mum saw you in town
the tears filled her eyes
i told you she was ashamed
that you were still alive

she taught you not to steal things
and tried her very best
but coz you are addicted
you listened to me instead

when she really needed you
safe home tucked in bed
so she did not have sleepless nights
i made you shake your head

the past 2years youve robbed
cheated, hurt and lied
the girl you mum was proud of
slwoly has died

before drugs you were an angel
a young lady with a job
but now if i told you
an old lady you would rob

forget now, who you used to be
focus on drugs, its all about me
for years youve hurt those who cared
ur on your own, but ill alwayz be there

i may not of killed you
but i bet you wish i had
your little bro cant
understand why your bad

drugs not a fast killer
we like to play
so that when you DO die
no one has nice things to say.

now you have read this
you know how bad things can go
so do the right thing
and simply say NO!

Post Quality Reviews:
Fresh, uninhibited, honest poems with a twist
Thank you for the poetry. I especially enjoyed the third one.
So honest, harrowing but true. Beautifully written. You're incredibly talented.
Old 06-03-2010, 01:49
Rin_Weh Rin_Weh is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems


Old 06-03-2010, 02:46
RoundCube RoundCube is offline
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Prends, s'il le faut, docteur, les ailes de Mercure
Pour m'apporter plus tôt ton baume précieux !
Le moment est venu de faire la piqûre
Qui, de ce lit d'enfer, m'enlève vers les cieux.

Merci, docteur, merci ! Qu'importe que la cure
Maintenant se prolonge en des jours ennuyeux !
Le divin baume est là, si divin qu'Epicure
Aurait dû l'inventer pour l'usage des Dieux !

Je le sens qui circule, qui me pénètre !
De l'esprit et du corps ineffable bien-être,
c'est le calme absolu dans la sérénité.

Ah ! Perce-moi cent fois de ton aiguille fine
Et je te bénirai cent fois, Sainte Morphine,
Dont Esculape eût fait une divinité.

Jules Verne
Have fun translating it.

Last edited by Phungushead; 08-06-2011 at 20:17.
Old 06-03-2010, 05:24
G_nome G_nome is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems

Just off the top of swim's head.....

At first i thought you were my friend, the spark i'd been missing
But you soon turned into a bitter end, and that's why i'm now dissing
You bitch, you cow
Where are ye now?
Far, far away, fucking up someone's else's life
You shan't be causing me any more strife
You thought you had me under control
But i proved you wrong, bared my soul
I don't regret a day of it
But neither do i miss it
You soon got very boring
Days spent just snoring
So you can fuck off now
You vindictive cow
Used to love you
Now i kinda hate you
But i thank you for our time together
Coz i learned and now things are gonna get better
Think that's the first "poem" swim's ever wrote, so apologies for the quality.
Old 06-03-2010, 20:43
channy00 channy00 is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems

swim has joined tht poem group...but where does swim post the poems?? x
Old 11-04-2010, 20:06
Philth Philth is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems

Here's one SWIM has been working on

Poisonous peas popped from silver-topped pods,
Scooped then dropped into the skeleton's gob,
The waterful streamed till their struggling stopped,
The poisonous peas made a poisonous pot

And so the skeleton's head consumed his heart,
Refused to beg, so removed his arms,
The skeleton's body became a jar,
For those poisonous peas in their poisonous pot
Old 20-04-2010, 18:49
Rightnow289 Rightnow289 is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems

Have a look on my blog there are some there
Old 04-05-2010, 19:19
badcompany badcompany is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems

SWIM wrote this along time ago
The love of lady Heroin

I will wrap my hair around you like a thousand chains to hold your face to mine so that all you can breathe is the air from my mouth, I will devour your lips with kisses until your skin is raw and cannot bare another touch. I will put my arms around and pull you against me and inside me, drowning you in the dark, dirty water of my desire, holding you under while you scramble for air and freedom, clinging to you while you struggle, pinning thrashing arms to your side in a parody of comfort, until you open your mouth and your lungs and the wares of my longing flood inside you and you choke on them, the taste of my passion on your tounge with your expiring breath. No merciful love is this.
You will try to avoid me; To keep safe distance between us, an electric face of other people and crowded places but I am the airbourn virus that no walls can keep out, no barriers gaurd aginst, the blood disease that prays on love and weakness and finds a new way to infect for everyway that has been closed and made safe and immuniesed. You can not escape me because there is not enough distance on this globe to put between us. Are you fool enough to think that mere space will stop me from claiming what I need to have as much as i need air to breathe? You are my sustenance and i will feed upon you, devouring you with my lips, my teeth, my tongue, until you are crying out for food and then perhaps i will hold my own wrist to your parched mouth, that you may drink your own sweetness from my viens. I will feed you with poison so that your goodness will choke you, and you fight away your savior for daring to try to save you, and you will despise them for the very attempt. I will corrupt you and make you long for corruption. I will damn you and make you welcome your damnation as your souls long lost friend. No humble love is this....

You will water me with tears that I will drink like wine, urging you to weep on so that I may succumb to intoxication. I will be so drunk on you that your sobriety will crumble out of the merest word or gesture. You will not be whole without me because i will rip out your heart with my hands and carry it in my coat pocket, attatched by an artery and a vien, the cables that keep it working and so that i can keep you close, because to push me away would cause a far darker seperation. I will bleed you dry and then i will swim in your blood, rolling in redness until my skin smells of your insides and i am no longer quite sane, if ever i was.
No tender love is this.

You will be scared of me and with good reason, you will wake sweating in the middle of darkness and call my name, not knowing whether it is a curse or invocation. I am the pool that will drown you, the deceptive current of a slow moving river, the red flagged sea that swallows the struggling swimmer. I will feed your fear until it is a strong and lonely animal, then i will give it hope as a companion and both of us will watch it slowly starve. No comforting love is this.

I am the blackness you must fumble through without the aid of light, your fingers exploring what you can never quite grasp, for i am moving beneath you touch, squirming with a desire you may or may not satisfy but you will never control, or even recognise for what truely it is. I am the brick wall you will bang your head against until it bleeds, the prison door that you will claw at until your fingernails crack and splinter and your last strength is gone, but still you will not accept the key from anyone but me.

I will weaken you beyond mercy, then i will despise you even as i accept it and revel in it. I will hurt you and humiliate you until you beg me not to stop.

No love is this.

I know this is not a rhyming poem but i thought i should share it as it is just what SWIM has lived through
Old 09-05-2010, 03:49
Ambiguous Ambiguous is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems

I did not write it, but I am sure that I am not the only person familiar with William S. Burrough's Introduction to Naked Lunch. It was written about 60 years ago and still exists as a mirror image for addicts.
Apart from that I really enjoyed the poems, especially the third one.


"I awoke from The Sickness at the age of forty-five, calm and sane, and in reasonably good health except for a weakened liver and the look of borrowed flesh common to all who survive The Sickness. Most survivors do not remember the delirium in detail. I apparently took detailed notes on sickness and delirium. I have no precise memory of writing the notes which have now been published under the title Naked Lunch. The title was suggested by Jack Kerouac. I did not understand what the title meant until my recent recovery. The title means exactly what the words say:
NAKED Lunch - a frozen moment when everyone sees what is on the end of every fork.
The Sickness is drug addiction and I was an addict for fifteen years. When I say addict I mean an addict to junk (generic term for opium and/or derivatives including all synthetics from demerol to palfium. I have used junk in many forms: morphine, heroin, delaudid, eukodal, pantopon, diocodid, diosane, opium, demerol, dolophine, palfium. I have smoked junk, eaten it, sniffed it, injected it in vein-skin-muscle, inserted it in rectal suppositories. The needle is not important. Whether you sniff it smoke it eat it or shove itup your ass the result is the same; addiction. When I speak of drug addiction I do not refer to keif, marijuana or any preparation of hashish, mescaline, Bannisteria Caapi, LSD6, Sacred Mushrooms or any other drug of the hallucinogen group.. There is no evidence that the use of any hallucinogen results in physical dependence. The action of these drugs is physiologically opposite to the action of junk. A lamentable confusion between the two classes of drugs has arisen owing tothe zeal of the U. S. and other narcotic departments.
I have seen the exact manner in which the junk virus operates through fifteen years of addiction. The pyramid of junk, one level eating the level below (it is no accident that junk higher-ups are always fat and the addict in the street is always thin) right up to the top or tops since there are many junk pyramids feeding on peoples of the world and all built on basic principles of monopoly:
1-Never give anything away for nothing.
2-Never give more than you have to give (always catch the buyer hungry and always make him wait).
3-Always take everything back if you possibly can.
The Pusher always gets it all back. The addict needs more and more junk to maintain a human form... buy off the Monkey.
Junk is the mold of monopoly and possession. The addict stands by while his junk legs carry him straight in on the junk beam to relapse. Junk is quantitative and accurately measurable. The more junk you use the less you have and the more you have the more you use. All the hallucinogen drugs are considered sacred by those who use them-there are Peyote Cults and Bannisteria Cults, Hashish Cults and Mushroom Cults-"the Sacred Mushrooms of Mexico enable a man to see God"-but no one ever suggested that junk is sacred. There are no opium cults. Opium is profane and quantitative like money. I have heard that there was once a beneficent non-habit-forming junk in India. It was called soma and is pictured as a beautifulblue tide. If soma everexisted the Pusher was there to bottle it and monopolize it and sell it and it turned into plain old time JUNK.
Junk is the ideal product . . . the ultimate merchandise. No sales talk necessary. The client will crawl through a sewer and beg to buy. . . . The junk merchant does not sell his product to the consumer, he sells the consumer to his product. He does not improve and simplify his merchandise. He degrades and simplifies the client. He pays his staff in junk.
Junk yields a basic formula of "evil" virus: The Algebra of Need. The face of "evil" is always the face of total need. A dope fiend is a man in total need of dope. Beyond a certain frequency need knows absolutely no limit or control. In the words of total need: "Wouldn't you?" Yes you would. You would lie, cheat, inform on your friends, steal, do anything to satisfy total need. Because you would be in a state of total sickness, total possession, and not in a position to act in any other way. Dope fiends are sick people who cannot act other than they do. A rabid dog cannot choose but bite. Assuming a self-righteous position is nothing to the purpose unless your purpose be to keep the junk virus in operation. And junk is a big industry. I recall talking to an American who worked for the Aftosa Commission in Mexico. Six hundred a month plus expense account:
"How long will the epidemic last?" I enquired.
"As long as we can keep itgoing. . . And yes ... maybe the aftosa will break out in South America," he said dreamily.
If you wish to alter or annihilate a pyramid of numbers in a serial relation, you alter or remove the bottom number. If we wish to annihilate the junk pyramid, we must start with the bottom of the pyramid: the Addict in the Street, and stop tilting quixotically for the "higher ups" so called, all of whom are immediately replaceable. The addict in the street who must have junk to live is the one irreplaceable factor in the junk equation. When there are no more addicts to buy junk there will be no junk traffic. As long as junk need exists, someone will service it.
Addicts can be cured or quarantined - that is, allowed a morphine ration under minimal supervision like typhoid carriers. When this is done, junk pyramids of the world will collapse. So far as I know, England is the only country to apply this method to the junk problem. They have about five hundred quarantined addicts in the U..K. In another generation when the quarantined addicts die off and pain killers operating on a non-junk principle are discovered, the junk virus will be like smallpox, a closed chapter - a medical curiosity.
The vaccine that can relegate the junk virus to a land-locked past is in existence. This vaccine is the Apomorphine Treatment discovered by an English doctor whose name I must withhold pending his permission to use it and to quote from his book covering thirty years of apomorphine treatment of addicts and alcoholics. The compound apomorphine is formed by boiling morphine with hydrochloric acid. It was discovered years before it was used to treat addicts. For many years the only use for apomorphine which has no narcotic or pain-killing properties was as an emetic to induce vomiting in cases of poisoning. It acts directly on the vomiting center in the back brain.
I found this vaccine at the end of the junk line. I lived in one room in the Native Quarter of Tangier. I had not taken a bath in a year nor changed my clothes or removed them except to stick a needle every hour in the fibrous grey wooden flesh of terminal addiction. I never cleaned or dusted the room. Empty ampule boxes and garbage piled to the ceiling. Light and water long since turned off for non-payment. I did absolutely nothing. I could look at the end of my shoe for eight hours. I was only roused to action when the hourglass of junk ran out. If a friend came to visit - and they rarely did since who or what was left to visit - I sat there not caring that he had entered my field of vision - a grey screen always blanker and fainter - and not caring when he walked out of it. If he had died on the spot I would have sat there looking at my shoe waiting to go through his pockets. Wouldn't you? Because I never had enough junk -no one ever does. Thirty grains of morphine a day and it still was not enough. And long waits in front of the drugstore. Delay is a rule in the junk business. The Man is never on time. This is no accident. There are no accidents in the junk world. The addict is taught again and again exactly what will happen if he does not score for his junk ration. Get up that money or else. And suddenly my habit began to jump and jump. Forty, sixty grains a day. And it still was not enough. And I could not pay.
I stood there with my last check in my hand and realized that it was my last check. I took the next plane for London.
The doctor explained to me that apomorphine acts on the back brain to regulate the metabolism and normalize the blood stream in such a way that the enzyme system of addiction is destroyed over a period of four or five days. Once the back brain is regulated apomorphine can be discontinued and only used in case of relapse. (No one would take apomorphine for kicks. Not one case of addiction to apomorphine has ever been recorded.) I agreed to undergo treatment and entered a nursing home. For the first twenty-four hours I was literally insane and paranoid as many addicts are in severe withdrawal. This delirium was dispersed by twenty-four hours of intensive apomorphine treatment. The doctor showed me the chart. I had received minute amounts of morphine that could not possibly account for my lack of the more severe withdrawal symptoms such as leg and stomach cramps, fever and my own special symptom, The Cold Burn, like a vast hive covering the body and rubbed with menthol. Every addict has his own special symptom that cracks all control. There was a missing factor in the withdrawal equation - that factor could only be apomorphine.
I saw the apomorphine treatment really work. Eight days later I left the nursing home eating and sleeping normally. I remained completely off junk for two full years - a twelve year record. I did relapse for some months as a result of pain and illness. Another apomorphine cure has kept me off junk through this writing.
The apomorphine cure is qualitatively different from other methods of cure. I have tried them all. Short reduction, slow reduction, cortisone, antihistamines, tranquilizers, sleeping cures, tolserol, reserpine. None of these cures lasted beyond the first opportunity to relapse. I can say definitely that I was neyer metabolically cured until I took the apomorphine cure. The overwhelming relapse statistics from the Lexington Narcotic Hospital have led many doctors to say that addiction is not curable. They use a dolophine reduction cure at Lexington and have never tried apomorphine so far as I know. In fact, this method of treatment has been largely neglected. No research has been done with variations of the apomorphine formula or with synthetics. No doubt substances fifty times stronger than apomorphine could be developed and the side effect of vomiting eliminated.
Apomorphine is a metabolic and psychic regulator that can be discontinued as soon as it has done its work. The world is deluged with tranquilizers and energizers but this unique regulator has not received attention. No research has been done by any of the large pharmaceutical companies. I suggest that research with variations of apomorphine and synthesis of it will open a new medical frontier extending far beyond the problem of addiction.
The smallpox vaccine was opposed by a vociferous lunatic group of anti-vaccinationists. No doubt a scream of protest will go up from interested or unbalanced individuals as the junk virus is shot out from under them. Junk is big business; there are always cranks and operators. They must not be allowed to interfere with the essential work of inoculation treatment and quarantine. The junk virus is public health problem number one of the world today.
Since Naked Lunch treats this health problem, it is necessarily brutal, obscene and disgusting. Sickness is often repulsive details not for weak stomachs,
Certain passages in the book that have been called pornographic were written as a tract against Capital Punishment in the manner of Jonathan Swift's Modest Proposal. These sections are intended to reveal capital punishment as the obscene, barbaric and disgusting anachronism that it is. As always the lunch is naked. If civilized countries want to return to Druid Hanging Rites in the Sacred Grove or to drink blood with the Aztecs and feed their Gods with blood of human sacrifice, let them see what they actually eat and drink. Let them see what is on the end of that long newspaper spoon.
I have almost completed a sequel to Naked Lunch. A mathematical extension of the Algebra of Need beyond the junk virus. Because there are many forms of addiction I think that they all obey basic laws. In the words of Heiderberg: "This may net be the best of all possible universes but it may well prove to be one of the simplest." If man can see.
Post Script. . . . Wouldn't You?
And speaking Personally and if a man speaks any other way we might as well start looking for his Protoplasm Daddy or Mother Cell. . . I Don't Want To Hear Any More Tired 0ld junk Talk And junk Con... The same things said a million times and more and there is no point in saying anything because N0THING Ever Happens in the junk world.
Only excuse for this tired death route is THE KICK when the junk circuit is cut off for the non-payment and the junk-skin dies of junk-lack and overdose of time and the Old Skin has forgotten the skin game simplifying a way under the junk cover the way skins will.... A condition of total exposure is precipitated when the Kicking Addict cannot choose but see smell and listen. . . Watch out for the cars.
It is clear that junk is a Round-the-World-Push-an-Opium-Pellet-with-Your-Nose-Route. Strictly for Scarabs - stumble bum junk heap. And as such report to disposal. Tired of seeing it around.
Junkies always beef about The Cold as they call it, turning up their black coat collars and clutching their withered necks . . . pure junk con. A junky does not want to be warm, he wants to be Cool-Cooler-COLD. But he wants The Cold like he wants his Junk - NOT OUTSIDE where it does him no good but INSIDE so he can sit around with a spine like a frozen hydraulic jack. . . his metabolism approaching Absolute ZERO. TERMINAL addicts often go two months without a bowel move and the intestines make with sit-down-adhesions - Wouldn't you? -requiring the intervention of an apple corer or its surgical equivalent... Such is life in The Old Ice House. Why move around and waste TIME?
Room for One More Inside, Sir.
Some entities are on thermodynamic kicks. They invented thermodynamics. . . . Wouldn't you?
And some of us are on Different Kicks and that's a thing out in the open the way I like to see what I eat and visa versa mutatis mutandis as the case may be. Bill's Naked Lunch Room.. Step right up. Good for young and old, man and bestial. Nothing like a little snake oil to grease the wheels and get a show on the track Jack. Which side are you on? Fro-Zen Hydraulic? Or you want to take a look around with Honest Bill?
So that's the World Health Problem I was taking about back in The Article. The Prospect Before Us Friends of MINE. Do I hear muttering about a personal razor and some bush league short con artist who is known to have invented The Bill? Wouldn't You? The razor belonged to a man named Occam and he was not a scar collector. Ludwig Wittgenstein Tractatus Logico Philosophicus: "If a proposition is NOT NECESSARY it us MEANINGLESS and approaching MEANING ZERO."
"And what is More UNNECESSARY than junk if You Don't Need it?"
Answer: "Junkies, if you are not ON JUNK."
I tell you boys,. I've heard some tired conversation but no other OCCUPATION GROUP can approximate that old thermodynamic junk Slow-DOWN. Now your heroin addict does not say hardly anything and that I can stand. But your Opium "Smoker" is more active since he still has a tent and a Lamp . . and maybe 7-9-10 lying up in there like hibernating reptiles keep the temperature up to Taking Level: How low the other junkies are "whereas We - WE have this tent and this lamp and this tent and this lamp and this tent and nice and warm in here nice and warm nice and IN HERE and nice and OUTSIDE ITS COLD. . . ITS COLD OUTSIDE where the dross eaters and the needle boys won't last two years not six months hardly won't last stumble bum around and there is no class in them. . . But WE SIT HERE and never increase the DOSE . . . never - never increase the dose never except TONIGHT is a SPECIAL OCCASION with all the dross eaters and needle boys out there in the cold. ...And we never eat it never never never eat it... Excuse please while I take a trip to The Source 0f Living Drops they all have in pocket and opium pellets shoved up the ass in a finger stall with the Family Jewels and the other shit.
Boom for one more inside, Sir.
Well when that record starts around for the billionth light year and never the tape shall change us nonjunkies take drastic action and the men separate out from the Junk boys.
Only way to protect yourself against this horrid peril is come over HERE and shack up with Charybdis... Treat you right kid.. Candy and cigarettes.
I am after fifteen years in that tent. In and out in and out in and OUT. Over and Out. So listen to Old Uncle Bill Burroughs who invented the Burroughs Adding Machine Regulator Gimmick on the Hydraulic Jack Principle no matter how you jerk the handle result is always the same for given co-ordinates. Got my training early. . wouldn't you?
Paregoric Babies of the World Unite. We have nothing to lose but Our Pushers. And THEY are NOT NECESSARY.
Look down LOOK DOWN along that junk road before you travel there and get in with the Wrong Mob...
A word to the wise guy."
Old 09-05-2010, 07:34
Penny Penny is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems


I threw you
like an old suit
fallen hems
thin at the knees
and elbows
just falling to pieces
Threw you aside and said
“you don't fit, go!”
And you stayed,
a pile on the couch
sullen and loud in your quiet danger,
reeking up my apartment from corner to corner
with the smell of
rot daisies and strength and autonomy and hunger.
Iron hunger.
I needed you and still do.
So I sat next to you with a bottle
and slipped into you
you unto me,
Brand New.
Silken inside,
Pressed, crisp exterior.
In the mirror you seethed with pride.
I examined you, us, we.

Post Quality Reviews:
Beautiful,truthful.Thanks for sharing.
great imagery, thanks for sharing
Old 09-05-2010, 11:05
wyldwillow wyldwillow is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems

Dream Catcher

A little bit of discipline
An abundance of desire
I recognise the smoke signals
I suffocate the fire

I wake with sudden clarity
It’s been too many years
I greet the day with an honest smile
Say farewell to the tears

The seemingly unattainable
One day takes a turn
And now completely evident
No longer do I yearn

I set alight my smoke screen
I burned the green divine
Dream Catcher I’ve caught up with you
Now give me back what’s mine

Post Quality Reviews:
great poetry and contribution to the thread
you have an incredible gift. thank you for sharing it!
Old 17-09-2010, 05:32
Penny Penny is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems


The boy and I are in the kitchen cooking
Eggs at 3 o clock for lunch.
He hands them to me and one at a time
I break them over a bowl
And then I break the fat round yolks
With two wooden chopsticks that hit the bowl rim
Just so – you learn to mix eggs by sound not sight in my mother’s house.
I don’t let the boy mix eggs
His discordant scraping with a fork is too much.
Surprising for someone who can beat a fast
Staccato with a credit card on anything flat and hard
To beat the rocks out of blow and pills
Who has the discernment to delicately tap out
Two fat equal lines to the grain to the particle to the iota
Of junk.
He just detoxed but the junk flies still inside his head and body
Worse now, like when you step into a pond
The mud rises and fucks up the water.
Eggs just aren’t his thing.
He asks me one of those rhetorical questions
The ones specifically made to stir up shit and screw the day.
I say “It wouldn’t matter anyways”
I pour my eggs in the pan they instantly start to boil and burn.
He asks me again over the snap of burning fat
I stir them with a fork
It scrapes the pan.
“Don’t you dare go to that place” he says
Louder and louder until the eggs are cooked to hell
“Don’t you dare go to that place”
“Where are you getting the money?”
I pass him his half of the eggs
Nasty burnt up,
These are the last pathetic eggs of a premenopausal hen.
She’s sad, if we project our human feelings about matronly women.
But I would be so pleased if my insides froze up
Freeing me from the burden of eggs eggs eggs
And I would be blissfully alone and selfish.

Post Quality Reviews:
brilliant prose, would really love to read more from you! Thanks for sharing
YOWZA! I love this poem! Excellent use of vernacular and concrete images to convey insight!
amazingly conveyed
First time I read it, it didnt make any sense, Second time I read it, it hit me like a brick wall
Old 18-09-2010, 03:14
dyingtomorrow dyingtomorrow is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems

SWIM wrote one today ...


A star explodes
In the dead of night
A pinpoint forms
And drinks the light

A black hole born
First breath I drew
It wants to be whole
I want that too

A needle slides
Under my skin
It fills the void
With the soul therein

A black hole shudders
In the dead of night
The void explodes
Into glorious light

Post Quality Reviews:
I loved this poem! You are very talented!

Last edited by dyingtomorrow; 18-09-2010 at 06:20. Reason: oh, you know, this and that
Old 18-09-2010, 03:33
FreeBliss FreeBliss is offline
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hydrocodon, tremadol to ease the pain
the only things that seem to take it all away
and all along i knew this path would bring me down
i pop another and another till i hit the ground
never knew how hard picking your self up could be
and always said wont try anything other then the weed
now my heads cleared up enough to write this song
and as you see i still got them pains and will for long.
Old 24-04-2011, 07:43
jon-q jon-q is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems

Hi, just came across this poem which i belive was written in the 1970's. I assume this poem has been posted somewhere in the forum already but i'm dammed if i can find it...

Take Me in Your Arms

"Miss Heroin"

So now, little man, you've grown tired of grass
LSD, goofballs, cocaine and hash,
and someone, pretending to be a true friend,
said, "I'll introduce you to Miss Heroin".

Well honey, before you start fooling with me,
just let me inform you of how it will be.

For I will seduce you and make you my slave,
I've sent men much stronger than you to their graves.
You think you could never become a disgrace,
and end up addicted to Poppy seed waste.

So you'll start inhaling me one afternoon,
you'll take me into your arms very soon.
And once I've entered deep down in your veins,
The craving will nearly drive you insane.

You'll swindle your mother and just for a buck.
You'll turn into something vile and corrupt.
You'll mug and you'll steal for my narcotic charm,
and feel contentment when I'm in your arms.

The day, when you realize the monster you've grown,
you'll solemnly swear to leave me alone.
If you think you've got that mystical knack,
then sweetie, just try getting me off your back.

The vomit, the cramps, your gut tied in knots.
The jangling nerves screaming for one more shot.
The hot chills and cold sweats, withdrawal pains,
can only be saved by my little white grains.

There's no other way, and there's no need to look,
for deep down inside you know you are hooked.
You'll desperately run to the pushers and then,
you'll welcome me back to your arms once again.

And you will return just as I foretold!
I know that you'll give me your body and soul.
You'll give up your morals, your conscience, your heart.
And you will be mine until, "Death Do Us Part"

Author Anonymous

Last edited by jon-q; 24-04-2011 at 08:16. Reason: Date and formatting bloody formatting...
Old 24-04-2011, 08:38
sassyspy sassyspy is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems

Interesting, I just found an old one, too! on my HDD, don't remember where I got it, or if anyone ever claimed ownership.
And I hope the 'bastardizing' of a familiar bible psalm doesn't offend anyone. It certainly makes a stark point, I think.

King Meth is my shepherd
I shall always want
He maketh me lie down in the gutter
leadeth me beside troubled water
He destroyeth my soul
He leadeth me in the path
of wickedness
Yea I shall walk in the valley of poverty
And will fear no evil
for thou meth are with me
their taste and quantity comfort me
Thou strippeth the table
of groceries
In the presence of friends and family
Thou robbest my head of reason
My cup of sorrow runneth over
Surely meth addiction shall stalk me all
the days of my life
I shall dwell in the house of the damned forever

Oh shoot, was this only for opiates? I'm sorry, I just saw the "drug addiction' part of thread title, hope its ok!
Old 02-01-2012, 14:19
braggman braggman is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems

Here's one I have about Heroin

(for Laurie)

With these words
with these thoughts
with these actions
we enter the other,
unholy lost desperate alone
to squander stolen luxuries
into the fire
the burning future
of our failing.

I mix my blood with yours.
I twine our bodies
and complicate our souls
squeeze your arm purples, blues
eyes close

Pain is diminished
belonging to each other
even like this
just in this moment
of love desperation.
We both love abandon.
My lust for you is just for her
and yours for me is all for her…
we share her separately
but lie together
un-belonging without lies.

In my hands in my fingers
in the slow ache my bones
start slipping free from their flesh
to find a rest of their own.
to be this alone
I pull the last drink, draw
the last from your arm…

Now the moon moves too fast,
so much more mortal.
I am yours and not hers
not in love
but something simpler
our union mocking death
given and willing.

Watery pink streams wandering
dispatched to private destinations
to my hands and fingers cracking
open in blisters and cuts
and my mouth
begging for you
begging for more
the tongue travels secretly
and begs your body's blessing
chooses a way
above the flows of passion
subcutaneous rivers of a conscious body
that you have know explored forgotten
abandoned belittled.
Still I hover near in your darkness
your bare hold on awareness
worship over the slow, mildly passionate thighs
opening deeper
more darkness
covers pulled over our lazily swaying heads
tangled sweaty hair.

The desire of this flesh
from the dead ache of a desperation
is not to be alone in this dark day of birth.
We tighten beneath the sheets
a hard bump, a seed or chestnut.

Scratch rub but you can't reach
close just under the skin
can't take back the black clot
of our communal blood
of the lost dead souls who shared.
Sickly oblivion, we are ready, supine
All she asks or might ask is
given or promised already, surrendered
without speaking any pact aloud.

With distance
with enough time
the need in the blood runs cold
for that excitement that drove our fury
fading off to the distance
as if the memories never belonged…
half-taken from stories overheard
in cheap diners and payphones.

Death is no longer pink in the mind
but a lifeless gray
no longer running course
to the open hand which heals.
Death now is everywhere.
In me death is alive
now longing is our last threat.

Almost beloved
that I might touch you again…
most banished, rejected, poison, lovely
girl I dream to have…
dream to have rescued you
to stop this.
I cannot heal you
cannot heal even me.
Almost beloved
not even close to a perfect love
your need and dreams
cannot heal us.
I've lost the will to rise above
this makeshift scarecrow
of dying meat,
I cannot mend
but promise to stay
here with you
beyond the distractions of desire
misfortune and wandering…

I mix your blood with mine.

Old 11-01-2012, 23:26
Ambiguous Ambiguous is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems

This is a series of poems that swim wrote while still in active addiction, and then following it once he had entered treatment, where he still is today. Let me know what you think.

Yesterday's Echo I

I am totally consumed by the Darkness that has twisted my being. What began with a bloody razor evolved into the tiny steel needle that has decayed my body, mind, and soul. I try so hard to believe that I want to stop, but can never get the thought and desire to eradicate my mind. My mental acuity has compounded the complexity of the wicked point, and am forever driven by my selfish insanity. I thought that nothing could ever come between my love for her, but my hateful yet beloved mistress of destruction refused to untether the grip on her leash upon my lost soul.

Where am I headed; how low can I go? Until this self-induced sickness finally decides to free my tortured soul. Perhaps it is already too late and I cannot get loose from this tumultuous existence; However, I fear that I am tainted for life, which often makes me consider ending it with a knife. Half a decade has passed by into a nod and blink of the eye. Time only adds to the severity of my disease. I may search forever to find a way out, but fear this bondage unless I extinguish my fire…

Yesterday's Echo II

The days go by without the Prick
Hours slowly fade away and all that I can hear is tick-tock-tick
Struggling to abstain from the venom which pilfered my former being,
I shut off my ears, yet still hear my mistress sing.
The sickness has passed, but I am still bound as her slave;
That chains tighten across my soul and forever I crave.

With the needle stripped away, the razor I want to turn,
yet I know the blood and dope traps me in eternal Hell to burn.
Perhaps I am a lost cause I often think,
due to my countless attempts that weigh me down to sink.
Fear and emotion seem to no longer apply,
I cannot escape and have been unable to Die.
I have been told just be patient and wait,
Time will heal your body and mind often just fuels my hate.

Distorted as my past became,
I know it's not their fault and I am completely to blame.
Lust, Love, and Loss has ambused me;
Left tattered, twisted, and broken I merely wish to be free.
My intelligence and youth contributes to my demise;
Breaking the cycle of my sickness will be much to my surprise...

Yesterday's Echo III

Grieving for my Mistress's loss day by day;
Hours turn to weeks as it slowly fades away.
Reconnecting with my past is really quite a chore;
The many positive things and relationships I have tore.
Snorting, plugging, injecting are the things I've left behind;
A cure for this empty void is what I hope to find.
Dancing with addiction has left me little hope;
I must explore reality to a better means to cope.
Becoming a recluse, prevented me from living;
I only wish sobriety will eventually be more giving.
My last attempt I merely tried to supplement the pain;
The sharp razors edge has nothing good to gain.
The scars across my legs show the map upon my soul;
The darkness overwhelms me and traps me in a hole.
I must surrender this taunting, cruel lifestyle;
Otherwise I am a lost cause wicked, twisted, and vile.
The person that I was has been lost for many years;
If only I can recover and banish all these fears.
Old 23-04-2012, 20:30
smutt butt smutt butt is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems

Sassy, here is the original poem..

King Heroin Is My Sheperd, I Shall Always Want

King Heroin is my shepherd, I shall shall always want.
He maketh me to lie down in the gutters.
He leadeth me beside the troubled waters.
He destroyeth my soul.
He leadeth me in the paths of wickedness.
Yea, I shall walk through the valley of poverty and will fear no evil for thou, Heroin, art with me.
Thy needle and thy capsule comfort me.
Thou strippest the table of groceries in the presence of my family.
Thou robbest my head of reason. My cup of sorrow runneth over.
Surely heroin addiction shall stalk me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the damned forever.

This appeared in Ann Landers' column. The twisted rewording of the beloved 23rd Psalm was found in a car with the body of a 23 year old woman, whose death was ruled a suicide from a hookup with the car's exhaust pipe. Also found was the following letter from the woman:

Jail didn't cure me. Nor did hospitalization help me for long. The doctor told my family it would have been better, and indeed kinder, if the person who got me hooked on dope had taken a gun and blown my brains out. And I wish to God he had.
Old 30-04-2012, 04:05
AllAroundTheLight AllAroundTheLight is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems

about dxm...i dont know if it's clearly about addiction, but it did have a hold on me...
takes me.
and makes me happier
and free, floating
above the past
to see you and me
and slowing things fast.
Reminiscing alone
on times ahead
glowing with unknown
thoughts in my head,
retracing the steps
to fears left unsaid,
the painful awareness
lies just ahead.
So bring me down slow
and dont ask me why
cuz all that i know
is just a big lie

It's not great but i am not a poet...dxm brought it out of me
Old 03-05-2012, 16:04
SlaveKnowMore SlaveKnowMore is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems

How about an oldie but goodie from Neil Young?

"Needle And The Damage Done"

I caught you knockin'
at my cellar door
I love you, baby,
can I have some more
Ooh, ooh, the damage done.

I hit the city and
I lost my band
I watched the needle
take another man
Gone, gone, the damage done.

I sing the song
because I love the man
I know that some
of you don't understand
to keep from running out.

I've seen the needle
and the damage done
A little part of it in everyone
But every junkie's
like a settin' sun.

Maybe I'm in emotional weirdsville right now but this song still makes me cry.
Old 03-05-2012, 22:39
MarcVinal MarcVinal is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems

Are you dumb or are you clever,
Have you tried or do you never?
Peases do listen for this is why
It's the truth & no lie!
For if you dare to discover,
You will find 1 leads to the other!
Say to your mates there's no point,
I'd rather smoke Than have a joint!
For if you try you might enjoy,
You say I'm a grown up & not a boy!
Slowly your learn & your know this,
From grass to rocky & cannabis!
Now so high you look down at your loft,
You say don't moan cos their all soft!
You say don't moan cant you see,
I'd get a caution as their class B!
You had to try you had to begin,
So now u try amphetamine
Speed amyl you say are sweet,
You think it's cool your dealer you meet!
But you should think why did I have her,
Slowly you go up the ladder!
Df's tamazy's & L.S.D,
You say they are all for me!
On a trip you have a vision,
They try to tell you but you don't listen!
Very soon your regret the day,
Gone is the puff now it's the K!
Ketamine Charly PCP,
I'm almost on an ecstasy!
Now so high u want to come down,
The Devils dandruff for it's the brown!
So you think you are tuff,
You think you can handle the hard stuff!
At 1st you can but fire will burn
This is a lesson you should learn
Take the brown if You will,
Yet this thing it can kill!
You think your tuff but you will pay,
Your need the thing every day!
Now an ADDICT you need no other,
You just ad to discover!!

By MarcVinal
Some one who found out!
Old 03-05-2012, 23:07
Reason4rhyme Reason4rhyme is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems

Mine are rap lyrics which I personally consider to be a higher art form although it is rarely portrayed as such... They are already in a thread...mostly. https://drugs-forum.com/forum/sho...d.php?t=180162

And a video of me rapping it on youtube... sorry bout the link! I uploaded it onto DF but it didn't work.. I'll try again at some other point: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2vgL8IXAGkg

Here's one I'm working on so far..

You won't get into it, hit of it, little bit, turned into lot a bit
Gotta get, out of this riddle, A fuckin hippopotamus
shot up with heroin nods in the middle of ya conciousness
Out of it? Coppin it's just as exiting as the shot of it!


Last edited by Reason4rhyme; 03-05-2012 at 23:16. Reason: ADDITION
Old 04-05-2012, 10:19
Caitlin23 Caitlin23 is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems

Just the ramblings of a dopesick (ex?) junkie on day 5 of sobriety at 4 am...

The sweetest dreams
And most horrific nightmares
Yet still I'm subject
To their judgmental glares
Walking down the street
Slowly and sick
Give me a f***ing break
I'm trying to kick
They get you hooked
Then up the price
Thanks for nothing a**hole
Real f***in nice
Trying to maintain
And keep some pride
Only to find
I'm still empty inside
Crawling back to my dealer
Lonely and ill
All I really need
Is just one more pill
But I've tried to abstain
And that was a sin
Teach me my lesson
So I wont try this again
Old 04-05-2012, 14:14
SlaveKnowMore SlaveKnowMore is offline
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Re: drug addiction poems

That was a pretty awesome poem Caitlin. You may be dope sick but your creative juices are still flowing. Keep up the good work and congrats on 5 days free.

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