scribbles~ poetry and other writings on addiction

Discussion in 'General Addiction discussion' started by Hollywood, Oct 5, 2003.

  1. Hollywood

    Hollywood Gold Member

    Reputation Points:
    Jul 26, 2003
    55 y/o from U.S.A.
    The Monkey and the Train- writings on overcoming addiction

    The Monkey and the Train- writings on overcoming addiction

    My friend the Monkey.......He was always strong. He protected me from harms way. He made my heart stone cold and strong as steel. He picked me up when I fell down. He gave me confidence. He was always with me. He rode beside me on the freight train.

    The train would carry us where ever we wanted to go. We would lie in bed at night and hear the train coming. We would run to the train like a hobo in the night.

    The monkey and I must now part ways. I must now walk instead of riding. I must pick myself up without the help from my friend the monkey. He sits on my back waiting for me to ask for his help. He talks to me constantly. He plays all of our favorite songs and flashes all of the fun people and places we use to visit in front of my tired and weak body.

    As the days go by, the monkey is starving. He is very hungry. I can see his ribs.The Monkey bites and scratches me every day and night for nourishment. My friend, the Train, has passed me up and is now going the other way. I can still hear his whistle and feel the violent rumble of his tracks. I know that after the monkey has fallen off my back from starvation, he will always follow me from the shadows. I know he will disquise himself in many forms and fashions. He will always be there. I must now carry a stick to keep him away. I know he will always have us two first class tickets to ride the massive freight train.

    But now I must go, into the scary and unknown darkness of life, alone and frightened, without the help from my friends The Monkey and the Train
    Last edited by a moderator: Jun 14, 2009
  2. sands of time

    sands of time Gold Member

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    Nov 4, 2003
    Man that spoke to my heart like no person could do. I know what you mean, its hard to go day to day without some kind of relief. You always remember the good times you had with your drug, but its so easy to forget that most of the relationship sucks. You love that first feeling of the great high but after awhile it just becomes a nagging hunger that wants to be fed. Stay clean man cause its no way to live bein hooked.
  3. VincentVan

    VincentVan Platinum Member

    Reputation Points:
    Feb 14, 2005
    I always thought that I did´nt love myself enough tosay goodbye tomy faithful demons. Maybe no reason seemed worth the effort and the pain. Then in the new eyes of my baby daughter I found a reasonI was not sure existed.I clearly saw why it was worth to try again. I had a few false starts but now I did it. One month off the stuff and I feel great. A bit unsure at times but still on the right path.

    To everyone who is going to pick this unfair fight I wish all the best luck from the deepest of my heart. Whoever is going, orhas gone through it, is a kindred soul. Listen:there is a way out. I know. I have seen it.

    " If you want a crown you must go hunt for it yourself" - R. Kipling "The man who would be King"
    Last edited by a moderator: Jun 28, 2008
  4. Nadia Snow

    Nadia Snow Newbie

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    Jan 31, 2005
    "driving that train, high on cocaine
    casey jones you better watch your speed
    trouble ahead, trouble behind
    and you know that notion just crossed my mind

    this old engine makes it on time
    leaves Central station about a quarter to 9
    Hits river junction at seventeen to,
    At a quarter to ten you know it’s travlin’ again.

    Driving that train, high on cocaine,
    Casey jones you better, watch your speed.
    Trouble ahead, trouble behind,
    And you know that notion just crossed my mind.

    Trouble ahead, lady in red,
    Take my advice you’d be better off dead.
    Switchman’s sleeping, train hundred and two is
    On the wrong track and headed for you.

    Driving that train, high on cocaine,
    Casey jones is ready, watch your speed.
    Trouble ahead, trouble behind,
    And you know that notion just crossed my mind.

    Trouble with you is the trouble with me,
    Got two good eyes butWE still don’t see.
    Come round the bend, you know it’s the end,
    The fireman screams and the engine just gleams...

    Edited by: Nadia Snow
  5. fletch

    fletch Gold Member

    Reputation Points:
    Dec 9, 2004
    from Canada

    thought it would be interesting to post this, its scribbling from a little black book that swim keeps and writes in during drug use. basically this is just the print and pictures of the art are needed and will be updated soon to get a better idea of the concept. basically its one large poem type writing only divided into many many different shorter poems depending on the colour. the colours are titled in this writing a crayon in the spanish type language. basically this is how swim copes with the acceptance of drug addiction and trying to understand its nature. swim simply scribbles thoughts in different coloured crayons depending on mood etc. and each constructs different poems that can be interpreted many ways and inevitably creates an entire poem. so, quite simply here is one section; [comments would be greatly appreciated, there is some bizare stuff here and im not sure exactly what this stuff means, like is this early onset mental illness, there some things that make wonder about schizophrenia?]

    twenty-four crayons











    Last edited: Mar 11, 2006
  6. fletch

    fletch Gold Member

    Reputation Points:
    Dec 9, 2004
    from Canada
    the words...[constructing the puzzle]

    violeta azulado

    it seems like a lifetime ago since i last spoke
    with them, not that i dont desire to however. time
    just keeps slipping by. im certain. by the telephone
    with her thoughts awaiting. busy perhaps. ?
    who knows?...
    seven digits, a conditioned code there are lots of
    them. yet, this is no news to me. a simple
    birthday cheer, to hear my voice. but ya know
    its expected. at some point everything just feels
    the same. one day you walk out that door. thers
    many doors to open. but some lead to small
    rooms. nothing new. seems like lifes a
    deja view. you know. theres a man on the
    moon, hes watching you. the birds call but
    you know that familiar tune, its always to
    good to be true. theres never any birds outside
    the door. its how he tricks you, trick
    yourself [highlighted text] a perfect opposite
    of you, she who sings of the birds knows
    the pain, it drives me insane. to taste her,
    the candy, who cares of rotten teeth and gums with
    such a sparkle in ones eye. ya know one day
    the candy man will die, as she, and i, and time
    ya think theres another path next time. because
    i keep tripping my teeth on this concrete

    instead one comes to rational with time. sometimes
    ya gotta make believe to catch the dream instinct
    comforts me like energies attract ive felt that
    power so close just go with the flow its happy.

    theres no need to slip between
    the cracks in the concrete

    ink stains
    the page

    amarillo naranja

    numb gums with a stuttered

    riddled by the bus driver good thing
    you thanked that wise one, perspective is
    key, think about it relates directly to science

    azul verde

    it was a familiar colour blue, yet as
    usual im confused. for in dream my
    prophecy, she. a form [plato] each moment a
    struggle in search of the pure and
    scattered thoughts wont untie knots. its
    getting harder and harder to tiptoe around
    as it is evident that the pure is blue and to
    find you im confronted with not one pair
    but two, ya know I’ve got a tendancy
    to let that moment pass me by, eyes

    hey girl wont you help me tie these shoes?
    i cant keep on stumbling around. just a helping hand if
    its true.

    journey far

    perhaps these words are slightly more
    than what is initially perceived. you gotta
    understand that there are different perspectives
    different doors to the conscience. such
    colours are evident and worlds blossom inside
    little blue diamonds. yet the colours are
    merely one factor as a (the) piece as an entirety
    insights perspective. and thats really all it is

    its time.

    but things are working out. no need to
    dwell on previousities


    its white alright
    getting high is stupid. always slipping, tripping on the
    same old facts. youve got your head in the clouds. i think its time
    to come down. treat it like monopoly money, although, win the
    game of life. [newfoundland]

    there once was a boy who chased the man on the moon, you hear it
    in stories along the way. its been done, its.....just noise. people pondering.
    staring into space dream on dream on a little cloud floating. looped
    in a fairytale oh so geeked, just give up since the kid never found him
    he died along the way tripped on his shoelace. skin and bones you gotta
    shape up. tie your shoes or youll die to in the concrete jungle. tears
    to my eyes.

    kokan eyes you
    make me crazy. count that beat. all the colours just keep changing

    heres a tricky one for ya?
    give yourself a project...
    and construct the puzzle.

    oh you save me in these coloured dreams. please
    speak to me. even just
    thoughts it may be gone
    just one more time
    tip top shape you gotta put your game face on one hundred and ten percent.
    oh you blow my mind

    drugs drugs drugs drugs drugs drugs drugs... drugs drugs drugs drugs
    drugs drugs drugs...

    tear dribbles, but ya gotta
    do what you gotta do, but ya said it yourself, its about the
    collective so keep on smiling, ive hurt you more than you even
    know but youve got some doors still, yet to open. close call, its
    like sometimes you think its there but overcontemplating just left
    you hanging, wondering streets solo with a blank stare youll hear
    what you need to hear, and say whats needed to be said. its true
    you know what im talking about. those eyes, that smile... take
    the step it wont hurt ya, daddy always said change was good.

    spin that record.


    scribbling on paper

    sketched scribbles
    for fuck sake boy, caught by the wind, floatin around
    just like a piece of trash, crippled, obviously blind, shit
    youll go deaf.. just keep on keeping on, scattered
    presentation to the public, does the symptom dig that deep?
    its gotta be picking away at the skull, those damn birds.
    christ, wont you quiet down, get some damn rest, how
    far did you plan on traveling down this road. your only
    fooling yourself, sketching every moment, why you
    gotta worry so much? some good from some bad
    ya know, things will work out. you know what
    im talking about, filthy veins, seems like ya gotta
    bad case of the chills, damn, just forget about things,
    focus on one thing at a time.

    the spoken word is
    not whats written, yet it’s the addiction. fuck,
    nobody has a clue, everythings interpreted a different
    way. but nobody is phased by a second guess in witnessing
    the guy sporting long sleeves on a hot summers day.
    “curse words.” just remove the chemicals from this system.


    brown moods? its tough yet through
    attentive analyzation: contemplation it
    becomes just that real. time can go that
    fast and really not move at all. hmm....
    coloured thoughts are scattered, and quite
    random. karma acts in peculiar ways....
    theres tricks to this game kid, and currency
    really has no place it just makes things
    make believe. you cant buy a smile. ya
    know. just keeps things kicking and many
    times things are taken for granted. words just
    dribble out
    and i know that right now. theres people
    looking out for ya. see em everyday and
    it just makes sense to smile. mittens dont
    cost five dollars, and i understand right now
    with cold hands that wise person bought
    me a thought, and really she was. kind
    gestures feed smiles and brighten dull days.
    theres more to this than dabbled times. ya
    gotta keep things kicking. lifes a habit...

    just a little taste...lady [words
    often imply different things. you know that]

    wake up skinny
    in a brown mood?

    nothings impossible.

    its just really mind boggling and many wont
    understand. routine appearances will make
    you wonder the mind will believe anything.

    tick tock
    whats it mean.

    pina amarillo

    riding the train can really only be
    described one way, and really its only understood if
    you know what im talking about. you know that
    comfortable room, maybe a little cold but thats
    just because little do you know and one day the
    birds will pluck out your eyes. then you realize
    you trapped and slowly they just keep feeding
    off you. i think everyone before they step on
    to ride the train knows deep down that somehow
    itll kill life. its really to bad because you
    just gotta realize you love breathing fresh air. when you
    think about it, tis far more of a struggle to
    breath on the moon.

    once again at the bus stop
    the people knew him
    dave van glythe spare some change for
    a piece of mind living just five
    minutes at a time.

    .the story
    of my life.

    rojo escarlata

    should be erased from language
    dictionarys perhaps then it would not exist...ya know?

    rojo naranja

    moma always said to watch out for that shoelace untied, i keep
    tripping but it adds a little skip in my step. don t hide that

    dive in and take
    that chance.



    wake up wake up wake up girl

    another day
    another day day day

    steady rhythm

    sing it again

    treat it again.
    and again.

    if you really
    think about things wishes come true
    makebelieve wishes if you think about it
    will happen. why couldnt ya just be
    like another, fear the needle.?


    kokan kokan kokan eyes they look right
    through me — you. shes my other half.

    wont you wrap
    your arms around me..

    cant explain these feelings. maybe you know
    what im talking about.


    up girl help me tie these shoes and ill sail
    the skies with you.


    though knowledge by no means is passed
    with change, as currency, currently


    “this kid must be
    insane”...yet an interesting comment
    is made which denotes this very philosophy; in a
    sense..? it is implied that each citizen falls
    victim to decay by means of a habitual nature to..



    look hard

    this little feeling which i cant explain to
    close my eyes and feel so warm until this
    moment yet again in time has passed me
    bye i feel so cold.

    your not the only one and people
    find the way.

    amarillo leon

    no, citizens havent the slightest

    clue what the fuck is going on.

    its those little
    rocks the taste of the moon, just keep
    that beat going and dance in time. you
    know youll kick the habit soon. just a
    thought from a little piece of yellow.

    something to think

    see this
    syringe will
    take a lifespan

    these words spell it out

    really just a bunch of questions


    its rediculous

    sometimes you just slip into
    bad habits and at some point you always dip back in.

    cola morning wake up.

    caught you staring in my eyes.

    looks maybe like the
    addiction caught you, this fiend keeps
    itching underneath the skin. shake away
    the chills, just dance. catch a new[k]

    keep it kicking
    with less chipping because in time
    you realize the value of a tied shoe.


    and just
    in case it isnt

    understood ya
    gotta read the colours first, and even that can be

    its just about finding the right
    colours and not worrying to much
    otherwise you just wait too long


    ?sometimes the nose dribbles red but
    itll stop, whom would predict since you expect
    track marks

    twenty four crayons, a
    conversation coloured with
    each a slightly different implication yet
    at the end of the day, each constructs an
    entirety, that is the box of crayons. similar
    in a sense to the careful construction of this
    wax pigment on paper

    failed attempts sketch the conscience
    soon enough though youll feel that

    violeta imperial music music
    music music to my ears.
    music music music music to my ears.


    keep things kicking and just
    know to look at everything but in perspective


    cigarette withered skin
    shouldnt scratch your wounds

    azul electrico

    step up, its very simple, take control over
    the situation, but dont wait to long

    rojo violeta

    change is good

    loose teeth pull them out
    Last edited: Mar 11, 2006
  7. INodHardOhYeah

    INodHardOhYeah Gold Member

    Reputation Points:
    Dec 31, 2005
    from U.S.A.
    The most important thing to consider when dealing with mental illness is that many symptoms of drug use and addiction mimic those of mental illness' such as schizofrenia, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, depression etc. A good psychiatrist typically will not officialy diagnose you with a mental illness until 6 - 12 months have passed since cessation of drug use. That is unless symptoms had manifested themselves before your first use of drugs. Though keep in mind, that is not to say that you are not suffering from a mental illness. I am assuming that your drug of choice is cocaine/crack. Cocaine causes drastic spikes and dips of dopeamine levels in your brain, especially in those with a pre-existing mental illness. Psychotic symptoms such as delusional thoughts, hallucinations, paranoia can all be attributed (but aren't necessarily) to increased dopeamine levels (far beyond the normal wax and wane of daily life). In fact, brain scans taken of methamphetamine users during and after use are often times identical to those of an individuals with schizofrenia. Also, you are often times unable to see yourself slipping into a psychotic state as insight becomes severly limited (meaning you don't know how sick you really are) coupled with the inability to take an objective view of yourself (no one suffering from psychosis or severe depression can). Low levels of dopeamine are when the depression sets in, symptomology of "violeta azulado" really stuck out to me as depressive thinking, but I'm not a therapist in fact I'm sick myself as I have suffered with Schizoaffective Disorder for many years so I can't really say for sure, it just reminds me of myself. By the way, if someone tells you "Just eat some acid and it'll help you figure things out" tell them to go fuck themselves. When you're sick it will do you no good to try and take an objective look at what will be an even more distorted view of self than what you already have. Hope some part if this rant helps.
  8. hh339

    hh339 Gold Member

    Reputation Points:
    Jun 13, 2004
    my friends song-lyrics

    my friends cousins moms dads friend wrote yet another song, very simple but the words come from the heart. swim can relate.


    its a chemical lobotomy, all systems fail
    its a quencher for your agony, and its on sale
    its a bond between you and your other small round bitter half
    I miss you

    its a sad heartbreak looking at the state youre in, my old friend
    theres a cold wind blowing chilling every single bone, I see the bitter end
    its a bond lost between you and what used to be your other better half
    I miss us
  9. robin_himself

    robin_himself Gold Member

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    Oct 10, 2005
    from The Netherlands
    very nice.... compliments
    I felt it
  10. Harry

    Harry Newbie

    Reputation Points:
    Mar 20, 2007
    Reflecting : Poetry

    Prob. the wrong place for this, who knows, but I am reflecting at the moment on something they wrote almost 20 years ago, while sitting in a detox center...

    (yea, it's long...and if not appropriate, jus' go ahead and move or delete it)

    Hangover Haven

    I’m painting this picture, up late in the evening,
    At a place known as Hangover Haven.
    It’s open all night for all of those with the plight…
    Being now sick and who shake from a cravin’.
    So if you’re thinking of drugs or of taking a drink
    And your burden is heavily laden,
    Please look at yourself, then at all of here,
    At the place known as Hangover Haven.

    It stands to the wayside of life’s flashy fast lane
    And has grown old in it’s many long years.
    It is fore ever haunted by us unfortunates,
    By our memories of hurt and our fears.
    The faces will change, but the stories remain,
    We’re lost souls who are in need of some savin’…
    So enter, if you will, and please have a close look
    At the place known as Hangover Haven.

    There is Mr. McArthur, he’s a very old man,
    Who will quite often sit down and cry.
    He will look in the mirror, and ask, "What have I done?"
    As another year quickly slips by.
    He once had a family, and once had a job,
    And was always so very clean shaven.
    Now he sits all alone with a face full with growth
    At the place known as Hangover Haven.

    There’s a very young girl sitting there by the phone
    Wearing jeans and an oversized shirt.
    She’s been to the doctor, then called a man,
    And her needle marks begin to hurt.
    She looks to the phone, then stares to the ceiling,
    And soon will commence into prayin’.
    She’s a heroine addict and carrying a baby
    At the place known as Hangover Haven.

    Big Jim was a boxer and he’ll tell you his tales,
    How no man on the earth does he fear.
    But just watch him shake with a fright in his eyes,
    When HIS image he sees in a mirror.
    He’d beat up his wife, and the kids and the dog
    Because of their rantin’ and ravin’,
    And couldn’t pay bills chasing alcohol thrills
    And now lives at the Hangover Haven.

    There’s a punker who blows upon his shirt with his nose,
    And claims that it’s all in good taste.
    He’s sporting a head- that is half green, half red.
    On his shirt’s written, ‘Nuclear Waste!’
    His father and mother can’t figure him out,
    But the two tell him ‘life is worth savin’’,
    And he just sniffed some glue he had stashed in his shoe
    At the place known as Hangover Haven.

    Old Janie will sit around the tables and tell
    Of the good men she’s know in her life,
    The warm-hearted lawyer, the dashing young banker,
    And the surgeon who cured with a knife.
    But Janie took pills for imaginary ills
    And now is too sick for the savin’.
    She lives in her memories as if they were real
    At the place known as Hangover Haven.

    There’s a young man just in, he’s clutching the wall,
    And shaking so hard he can’t stand.
    He’s done too much coke and way too much speed
    And he’s clutching his heart with his hand.
    He’s praying to God, "Just please bring me down,
    I will quit and I will start behavin’"
    In the morning he’ll leave and by night he’ll be back
    At the place known as Hangover Haven.

    Tex Manley is a cowboy wearing old faded jeans
    Whose six-string will always be near.
    If you ask him, on a good day, he will sing you a song
    Guaranteed to bring you to tears.
    And there once was a time when our Tex could fill dance halls
    And everyone talked of his playin’.
    Then he met Johnny Walker and ol’ Jimmy Beam…
    Now he plays at the Hangover Haven.

    And as Zarley stands up, and at near six feet four,
    He’s a vision of ol’ biker pride,
    For he’s clad in tattoos as his key’s dangle loose
    And his t-shirt reads, " I live to ride."
    But he’s no longer high, and just gives a big sigh…
    As before us he seems to be fadin’,
    For he screwed with his crew and knows not what to do
    And they’re headed now for Hangover Haven.

    There’s a young man named Michael doing volunteer work here,
    He’s been sober two years just today.
    He will talk about good things in time with sobriety
    But to us that seems far, far away.
    Right now his is sitting with old Mr. McArthur,
    Explaining that there’s time for his savin’,
    But I just heard a cry, and soon our old friend will die…
    At the place known as Hangover Haven.

    There’s a beautiful young girl who looks all so fine
    And goes by the name April May.
    She’s dressed up in expensive clothing and jewelry
    And her hips move in just the right way.
    She brags that she takes in a thousand a night…
    Though that barely takes care of her cravin’.
    For her cash is all gone and her pimps looking for her
    And she hides at the Hangover Haven.

    Just entering the room comes old saggy hips June,
    All withered and scarred through the years.
    As she makes her slow entrance she spots April May
    And her eyes start to swell up with tears.
    She starts to remembering the old glory days…
    How she’d get her tricks simply by wavin’
    Now everyone laughs when she stands on the corner
    Just down from the Hangover Haven.

    And the two of them sit there and stare at each other
    Both looking like the ghost they have seen.
    One gets a glimpse as to where she is going…
    While the other to where she has been.
    Confrontations of this kind are a common occurrence
    When we met who are equally laden.
    The young with the old, and the meek and the bold,
    Exchange fears at the Hangover Haven.

    And a young lonely artist, alone in the darkness
    Of a seat at the end of the hall,
    Where the cobwebs grow thick, the paints dried and peeled,
    Is etching scenes from his life on the wall.
    And right now he is drawing a picture of a house
    As he sweats as he works at creatin’,
    A picture that looks like a place we all know…
    The place known as Hangover Haven.

    And as the days turn to weeks, and the weeks to months,
    Some of us will go on to be fine.
    We will beat this addiction, and change our old ways,
    And we’ll do it ‘One Day At A Time’.
    But there are the unfortunates, like old Mr. McArthur,
    And to this disease they’ll succumb,
    For he died with the shakes, and the night of his wake,
    No one but no one did come.
    And we’re open all night for all of those with the plight,
    For those who shake from the cravin’
    And if you see some of us when you look in the mirror,
    Well a spot for you here we are savin’.
    So if you’re thinking of drugs or of taking a drink
    And your burden is heavily laden,
    Please look at yourself, then at all of us here…
    At the place known as Hangover Haven.

  11. Harry

    Harry Newbie

    Reputation Points:
    Mar 20, 2007
    Re: Reflecting


    Ruby, I remember you,
    Your tattered clothes,
    Your worn out shoes.
    Your stiff gaunt walk,
    Your sallow skin,
    Your painted cheeks,
    You weathered chin.
    Four city blocks that trapped you in,
    I wonder,
    Where did it begin?

    For when I see as see-ers do
    It's then I travel back to you.
    Oh late night sister of despair,
    I wonder,
    Did you see me there?
    Behind your catatonic stare,
    Your rotted teeth,
    Your matted hair.

    And as I see as see-ers do,
    I travel,
    Travel back to you.
    And as I watch time marching through,
    Dear Ruby,
    I remember you.

  12. MiMoMo

    MiMoMo Titanium Member

    Reputation Points:
    Oct 11, 2007
    from U.S.A.
    Re: The Monkey and the Train

    Thank You, Alfa [For bumping the original thread that had the The Monkey and the Train- writings on overcoming addiction post in it - Dickon] ! Having just awakened here on the farm at 4 in the morning, I strolled the cool predawn lawn to be greeted by my mother kitties from their nightly hunt. I never cease to be amazed at the ferocious loyalty a mother cat has for its young, sacrificially bringing back prime catch of the hunt for the litter, while suppressing its own ravenous appetite...(<

    And in the same vein, I then take an early stroll of this Forum's lush garden and am greeted by your own prime catch that you bring for our nourishment this morning! Thank you again, Monsieur Alfa.

    The monkey and the train is that stream of consciousness raw representation unadulterated concept snapshot. Like that hole in one's heart that yearns to be filled, yet those darn intoxicants don't make too good of a patch and end up draining out, ever needing refill like a leaky car radiator. Of course, the real seal is thicky, sticky love, whose true devotion can suppress any ravenous appetite...

    Its been well-nigh 2 years since SWIM weeded the garden of smoke:smoking:, drink:beer and snort:hoover:, all simultaneously. Need I say, the vegetables and flowers now grow tall, unimpeded by clinging, choking vines and overgrown thatch. Looking forward to sharing season's bountiful harvest with the Forum's hungry minions. Its ironically so cool, how a Drugs Forum serves as the way station for sober health, as well as wise guidance for altered awareness. :thumbsup:
    Last edited by a moderator: Jun 14, 2009
  13. hippie_lain

    hippie_lain Gold Member

    Reputation Points:
    Oct 10, 2004
    from U.S.A.
    A goodbye to sorrow - poem written in early recovery

    wasnt sure where to post this but i think here is a good place. i wrote this shortly after getting clean and sober

    Today, i have been set free

    the paths of darkness i will remember no longer

    for they have been forgotten

    only whipers of the emotions

    come to my dreams

    cold and lifeless, the comfort of sorrow

    But the pain i once felt

    has left my heart

    search though i might, i can not find

    this sorrowful friend has been lost in time

    so i will say my final goodbyes

    and to the merciful hope you once brought

    and the revenge i once thought

    Ive made my choice in the clearness of love

    goodbye how long will i hang on

    goodbye my suicide song

    to those who found the strength to hold on

    for the ones they cared for
  14. tylenol4000

    tylenol4000 Newbie

    Reputation Points:
    Nov 19, 2006
    from U.S.A.
    Heroin Poem

    This is a poem that I wrote awhile ago. It's about heroin and what it does to people, at least in my opinion. I thought I'd share it with the people of this forum. It's titled 'heroin'.

    'I see myself as after it I chase (inside my head,
    a portrayal of) the monster’s tail, so hypnotic;
    illuminating me with a swaying it does (so well,
    I think, and meant for me)

    piercing dragon, temptation
    predicting time - itself the future
    reverse antics in the axis of it’s mind
    (that which I gravitate towards with a
    vortex in each eye, and they swirl around
    and around as like a zombie I approach
    the mystical source of my obsession)
    he sits with a strange glow that looks divine,
    breathing deeply
    ever so deeply

    (mythical wonder that resonates for what seems
    the cause of the not-quite-the-same self, this
    lifelong dragon that haunts every thought)

    difficult but possible to regain the ego (there is
    hope, of course, for every victim of this affliction)
    by way of solving a certain division formula; in
    general it is, very cryptic by nature (not unlike a
    feverish delusion, or a clown that‘s wicked and
    full of enigmas) puzzling your mind in a state

    the thought of it, or the image in your head,
    speaking with a voice of desperate menace;
    still alive, even when it’s dead (to you)

    but it’s dead to me
    and it’s still breathing'
  15. Alexander_Praves

    Alexander_Praves Silver Member

    Reputation Points:
    Mar 12, 2009
    Re: Heroin Poem

    Before commenting on the poem, I would like to inquire if You is a heroin user himself?
  16. Ballad of Birds

    Ballad of Birds Newbie

    Reputation Points:
    Feb 18, 2007
    30 y/o from U.S.A.
    Re: Heroin Poem

    piercing dragon, temptation
    predicting time - itself the future
    reverse antics in the axis of it’s mind
    (that which I gravitate towards with a
    vortex in each eye, and they swirl around
    and around as like a zombie I approach
    the mystical source of my obsession)
    he sits with a strange glow that looks divine,
    breathing deeply
    ever so deeply

    Dope. Ending didn't leave me with the best taste in my mouth, but overall I liked it, man.
  17. tylenol4000

    tylenol4000 Newbie

    Reputation Points:
    Nov 19, 2006
    from U.S.A.
    Re: Heroin Poem

    Yes I am a user. Been smoking it for almost four years.
  18. Alexander_Praves

    Alexander_Praves Silver Member

    Reputation Points:
    Mar 12, 2009
    Re: Heroin Poem

    The reason SWIM asked is because he can't quite enjoy nor form a proper opinion of a piece written in free verse if biographical information relevant to the poem's content is lacking. Additionally, a number of people who write in free verse will attempt to tackle a subject as this while they themselves have no first hand experience with it.

    That bit of nonsense being said, it's a pretty good poem that certainly made for an interesting read. By all means, it's a nice piece.