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drug addiction poems

Discussion in 'Opiate addiction' started by channy00, Mar 5, 2010.

  1. channy00

    channy00 Silver Member

    Reputation Points:
    Feb 7, 2010
    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!
  2. Rin_Weh

    Rin_Weh Silver Member

    Reputation Points:
    Nov 2, 2009
    32 y/o Female from Canada
  3. RoundCube

    RoundCube Silver Member

    Reputation Points:
    Nov 25, 2009
    Male from zimbabwe
    Have fun translating it.
    Last edited by a moderator: Jun 8, 2011
  4. G_nome

    G_nome Palladium Member

    Reputation Points:
    Sep 8, 2007
    Male from U.K.
    Just off the top of swim's head.....

    Think that's the first "poem" swim's ever wrote, so apologies for the quality.
  5. channy00

    channy00 Silver Member

    Reputation Points:
    Feb 7, 2010
    swim has joined tht poem group...but where does swim post the poems?? x
  6. Philth

    Philth Silver Member

    Reputation Points:
    Jun 21, 2008
    Male from U.K.
    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
  7. Rightnow289

    Rightnow289 Palladium Member

    Reputation Points:
    Aug 27, 2008
    Male from earth
    Have a look on my blog there are some there :)
  8. badcompany

    badcompany Newbie

    Reputation Points:
    Apr 30, 2010
    Male from U.K.
    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
  9. Ambiguous

    Ambiguous Silver Member

    Reputation Points:
    Aug 16, 2009
    Male from U.S.A.
    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."
  10. Penny

    Penny Newbie

    Reputation Points:
    Apr 10, 2010
    Female from U.S.A.

    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.
  11. wyldwillow

    wyldwillow Silver Member

    Reputation Points:
    May 1, 2010
    Female from Australia
    [FONT=&quot]Dream Catcher
    [FONT=&quot]A little bit of discipline
    [FONT=&quot]An abundance of desire
    [FONT=&quot]I recognise the smoke signals
    [FONT=&quot]I suffocate the fire
    [FONT=&quot]I wake with sudden clarity
    [FONT=&quot]It’s been too many years
    [FONT=&quot]I greet the day with an honest smile
    [FONT=&quot]Say farewell to the tears
    [FONT=&quot]The seemingly unattainable
    [FONT=&quot]One day takes a turn
    [FONT=&quot]And now completely evident
    [FONT=&quot]No longer do I yearn
    [FONT=&quot]I set alight my smoke screen
    [FONT=&quot]I burned the green divine
    [FONT=&quot]Dream Catcher I’ve caught up with you
    [FONT=&quot]Now give me back what’s mine
    Last edited by a moderator: Apr 30, 2017
  12. Penny

    Penny Newbie

    Reputation Points:
    Apr 10, 2010
    Female from U.S.A.

    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.
  13. dyingtomorrow

    dyingtomorrow Palladium Member R.I.P.

    Reputation Points:
    Oct 16, 2008
    Male from U.S.A.
    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
    Last edited: Sep 18, 2010
  14. FreeBliss

    FreeBliss Silver Member

    Reputation Points:
    Jan 26, 2010
    29 y/o Male from U.S.A.

    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.
  15. jon-q

    jon-q Gold Member

    Reputation Points:
    Aug 13, 2008
    Male from U.K.
    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 a moderator: Apr 30, 2017
  16. sassyspy

    sassyspy Palladium Member

    Reputation Points:
    Mar 24, 2011
    Female from Washington, U.S.A.
    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!
    Last edited by a moderator: Apr 30, 2017
  17. braggman

    braggman Newbie

    Reputation Points:
    Jan 2, 2012
    Male from U.S.A.
    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.

  18. Ambiguous

    Ambiguous Silver Member

    Reputation Points:
    Aug 16, 2009
    Male from U.S.A.
    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.
  19. smutt butt

    smutt butt Silver Member

    Reputation Points:
    Oct 20, 2011
    Male from U.S.A.
    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.
  20. AllAroundTheLight

    AllAroundTheLight Silver Member

    Reputation Points:
    Dec 9, 2011
    Male from U.S.A.
    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