Poetry competition CLOSED 24th May 2013 8:34pm
WINNER
Abracadabra
Abracadabra
RUNNER-UP:
lightbaron
ADDICTION
Anonymous
Poetry Contest Description
DRUG OR BEHAVIOURAL ADDICTION
You can be addicted to smoking in which case your addiction is actually to nicotine. You can also be addicted to gambling, which is a behavioural addiction.
1. Write up to 3 poems, old or new about this area
2. The perspective can be from a person who is addicted to their girlfriend or brother or from the counselor's point of view...
This is a vast area of writing....so you should find it fairly easy to decide
3. any genre or type of poem is fine
4. this is not the final list of instructions as I may have forgotten something......email me please for further clarification and I will edit these instructions.
*************************************************************
REFERENCES:
http://www.psmag.com/health/when-it-comes-to-addiction-the-dsm-5-gets-it-right-but-57203/
http://www.recoverytoday.net/articles/143-dsm-v-major-changes-to-addictive-disease-classifications/
http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2013/04/11/dsm-v-hoarding-binge-eating-more-new-mental-disorder-diagnoses.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Addiction
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Substance_dependence
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Behavioral_addiction
Anonymous
The Addict by Anne Sexton
Anne Gray Harvey was born in Newton, Massachusetts, in 1928. She married Alfred Muller Sexton II at age nineteen. She enrolled in a modeling course at the Hart Agency and lived in San Francisco and Baltimore. In 1953 she gave birth to a daughter. In 1954 she was diagnosed with postpartum depression, suffered her first mental breakdown, and was admitted to Westwood Lodge, a neuropsychiatric hospital she would repeatedly return to for help. In 1955, following the birth of her second daughter, Sexton suffered another breakdown and was hospitalized again; her children were sent to live with her husband's parents. That same year, on her birthday, she attempted suicide.
The Addict by Anne Sexton
Sleepmonger,
deathmonger,
with capsules in my palms each night,
eight at a time from sweet pharmaceutical bottles
I make arrangements for a pint-sized journey.
I'm the queen of this condition.
I'm an expert on making the trip
and now they say I'm an addict.
Now they ask why.
WHY!
Don't they know that I promised to die!
I'm keping in practice.
I'm merely staying in shape.
The pills are a mother, but better,
every color and as good as sour balls.
I'm on a diet from death.
Yes, I admit
it has gotten to be a bit of a habit-
blows eight at a time, socked in the eye,
hauled away by the pink, the orange,
the green and the white goodnights.
I'm becoming something of a chemical
mixture.
that's it!
My supply
of tablets
has got to last for years and years.
I like them more than I like me.
It's a kind of marriage.
It's a kind of war where I plant bombs inside
of myself.
Yes
I try
to kill myself in small amounts,
an innocuous occupatin.
Actually I'm hung up on it.
But remember I don't make too much noise.
And frankly no one has to lug me out
and I don't stand there in my winding sheet.
I'm a little buttercup in my yellow nightie
eating my eight loaves in a row
and in a certain order as in
the laying on of hands
or the black sacrament.
It's a ceremony
but like any other sport
it's full of rules.
It's like a musical tennis match where
my mouth keeps catching the ball.
Then I lie on; my altar
elevated by the eight chemical kisses.
What a lay me down this is
with two pink, two orange,
two green, two white goodnights.
Fee-fi-fo-fum-
Now I'm borrowed.
Now I'm numb.
Anne Gray Harvey was born in Newton, Massachusetts, in 1928. She married Alfred Muller Sexton II at age nineteen. She enrolled in a modeling course at the Hart Agency and lived in San Francisco and Baltimore. In 1953 she gave birth to a daughter. In 1954 she was diagnosed with postpartum depression, suffered her first mental breakdown, and was admitted to Westwood Lodge, a neuropsychiatric hospital she would repeatedly return to for help. In 1955, following the birth of her second daughter, Sexton suffered another breakdown and was hospitalized again; her children were sent to live with her husband's parents. That same year, on her birthday, she attempted suicide.
The Addict by Anne Sexton
Sleepmonger,
deathmonger,
with capsules in my palms each night,
eight at a time from sweet pharmaceutical bottles
I make arrangements for a pint-sized journey.
I'm the queen of this condition.
I'm an expert on making the trip
and now they say I'm an addict.
Now they ask why.
WHY!
Don't they know that I promised to die!
I'm keping in practice.
I'm merely staying in shape.
The pills are a mother, but better,
every color and as good as sour balls.
I'm on a diet from death.
Yes, I admit
it has gotten to be a bit of a habit-
blows eight at a time, socked in the eye,
hauled away by the pink, the orange,
the green and the white goodnights.
I'm becoming something of a chemical
mixture.
that's it!
My supply
of tablets
has got to last for years and years.
I like them more than I like me.
It's a kind of marriage.
It's a kind of war where I plant bombs inside
of myself.
Yes
I try
to kill myself in small amounts,
an innocuous occupatin.
Actually I'm hung up on it.
But remember I don't make too much noise.
And frankly no one has to lug me out
and I don't stand there in my winding sheet.
I'm a little buttercup in my yellow nightie
eating my eight loaves in a row
and in a certain order as in
the laying on of hands
or the black sacrament.
It's a ceremony
but like any other sport
it's full of rules.
It's like a musical tennis match where
my mouth keeps catching the ball.
Then I lie on; my altar
elevated by the eight chemical kisses.
What a lay me down this is
with two pink, two orange,
two green, two white goodnights.
Fee-fi-fo-fum-
Now I'm borrowed.
Now I'm numb.
Anonymous
"What Influence Can Do"
This isn't another sad story about what influence can do to you,
I’m just here to tell you what it can do.
As hard as I try I’ll never understand
how you can let a bottle get out of hand.
You just need some event to get you down
and thinking another drink can help it drown.
I’ve seen shit around me get a little crazy,
that could be why I’m messed up maybe.
Now I have bad anxiety and I can’t stop thinking
about things that could happen and their possibilities.
I've tried a few pills and they calmed me down
but then the next day it’s the other way around.
All addiction is is an abusive substance
that fucks with your life and causes your absence.
At an early age this is what your children see,
that part of the story involves me.
I remember crying because of what you did
and the trauma from this is the reason why I hid.
And now as an adult those times are still there
and as hard as I try to forget I still seem to care.
Now that they got help maybe things will be better,
the times will change if we stick together.
But you’ll never understand what influence can do
unless everything I’ve said has happened to you.
This isn't another sad story about what influence can do to you,
I’m just here to tell you what it can do.
As hard as I try I’ll never understand
how you can let a bottle get out of hand.
You just need some event to get you down
and thinking another drink can help it drown.
I’ve seen shit around me get a little crazy,
that could be why I’m messed up maybe.
Now I have bad anxiety and I can’t stop thinking
about things that could happen and their possibilities.
I've tried a few pills and they calmed me down
but then the next day it’s the other way around.
All addiction is is an abusive substance
that fucks with your life and causes your absence.
At an early age this is what your children see,
that part of the story involves me.
I remember crying because of what you did
and the trauma from this is the reason why I hid.
And now as an adult those times are still there
and as hard as I try to forget I still seem to care.
Now that they got help maybe things will be better,
the times will change if we stick together.
But you’ll never understand what influence can do
unless everything I’ve said has happened to you.
the things I'm starting to do
the things I'm starting to say
the things I'm starting to remember,
they are all rotting my mind
I'm still so confused...
not much has gotten better
weight loss and headaches
pale skin and clear eyes
is it all worth it?
is it worth it...
staying strong
staying sane
staying
is it better this way?
the things I remember
the way I'm starting to care
The way I can't smile
it is rotting my mind
it is not a haze
things are clear
why can't I think?
The things I did...
The thoughts I had,
The words I said
I am starting to remember and all I want is to run back
I run...
yellowing skin, yellowing eyes
weight gain and heartaches
is it worth it?
staying weak
staying happy
staying
is it worth it?
the way I can't care
the way I smile
it is all rotting my mind
the things I'm starting to say
the things I'm starting to remember,
they are all rotting my mind
I'm still so confused...
not much has gotten better
weight loss and headaches
pale skin and clear eyes
is it all worth it?
is it worth it...
staying strong
staying sane
staying
is it better this way?
the things I remember
the way I'm starting to care
The way I can't smile
it is rotting my mind
it is not a haze
things are clear
why can't I think?
The things I did...
The thoughts I had,
The words I said
I am starting to remember and all I want is to run back
I run...
yellowing skin, yellowing eyes
weight gain and heartaches
is it worth it?
staying weak
staying happy
staying
is it worth it?
the way I can't care
the way I smile
it is all rotting my mind
Anonymous
ML and Eris - thank you for commencing the competition with your good poetry.
The Crufixion Procession
I will try to explain
Though for the words I'm at a loss,
About the cult of people
Who worship a hollow plastic cross.
The cross has a metal point
That inserts into my arm,
Though it makes me feel good
I know it's doing harm.
It injects superficial life
Into my punctured veins,
Making me forget my wounds
Making me forget my pains.
Each shot is a coin toss:
Not a literal flip, a figurative one,
Actually more like Russian roulette
With a fully loaded gun.
Whether you choose heroin
Or if your choice is speed,
We are all the same
Our desires we must feed.
I can't speak for everyone
But I can say for myself,
That in my closet of life
Broken containers line every shelf.
I have chosen drugs
As my way to cope
Hoping I can get more
Gives me a glimmer of hope.
It starts off as a game
I knew I wouldn't get hooked
Until I was in a jail cell
After just being booked.
I was released after my court date
Because it was my first offense
I'm told to go to rehab
But it's not a habit is my defense.
Soon it all goes downhill
It takes more to get high
In light of my new habit
My friends have said goodbye.
But that doesn't bother me
Because the needle is my friend
And will always be with me
Until the very end.
Trying to free myself from my pains
I've realized I've become a slave
With no chance for freedom
Until I reach my grave
When I conceded myself to the facts
And gave up all semblance of hope
I devoted all of every day
To trying to get more dope.
So what once was a game
Is now a way of life
What once eased my pain
Now only causes strife.
I've sold all my possessions
And I'm living on the street
My jeans are full of holes
And there's blisters on my feet.
My hair is dirty and tangled
There's tract marks on my arms
I used to be charismatic
But I've lost all my charm.
I don't care about anything in life
No matter how hard I try
Except about getting dope
In a useless effort to get high.
What once was a symbol of hope
Is now an object of distress
What previously let me deal with life
Has only made it a mess.
The Hollow Plastic Cross
Will be my crucifixion
Because I couldn't control my habit
And it has become an addiction.
-Casper
I will try to explain
Though for the words I'm at a loss,
About the cult of people
Who worship a hollow plastic cross.
The cross has a metal point
That inserts into my arm,
Though it makes me feel good
I know it's doing harm.
It injects superficial life
Into my punctured veins,
Making me forget my wounds
Making me forget my pains.
Each shot is a coin toss:
Not a literal flip, a figurative one,
Actually more like Russian roulette
With a fully loaded gun.
Whether you choose heroin
Or if your choice is speed,
We are all the same
Our desires we must feed.
I can't speak for everyone
But I can say for myself,
That in my closet of life
Broken containers line every shelf.
I have chosen drugs
As my way to cope
Hoping I can get more
Gives me a glimmer of hope.
It starts off as a game
I knew I wouldn't get hooked
Until I was in a jail cell
After just being booked.
I was released after my court date
Because it was my first offense
I'm told to go to rehab
But it's not a habit is my defense.
Soon it all goes downhill
It takes more to get high
In light of my new habit
My friends have said goodbye.
But that doesn't bother me
Because the needle is my friend
And will always be with me
Until the very end.
Trying to free myself from my pains
I've realized I've become a slave
With no chance for freedom
Until I reach my grave
When I conceded myself to the facts
And gave up all semblance of hope
I devoted all of every day
To trying to get more dope.
So what once was a game
Is now a way of life
What once eased my pain
Now only causes strife.
I've sold all my possessions
And I'm living on the street
My jeans are full of holes
And there's blisters on my feet.
My hair is dirty and tangled
There's tract marks on my arms
I used to be charismatic
But I've lost all my charm.
I don't care about anything in life
No matter how hard I try
Except about getting dope
In a useless effort to get high.
What once was a symbol of hope
Is now an object of distress
What previously let me deal with life
Has only made it a mess.
The Hollow Plastic Cross
Will be my crucifixion
Because I couldn't control my habit
And it has become an addiction.
-Casper
Beyond redemption
Either comfortably sedated with buprenorphine
Or running the streets a shady dope fiend
My thoughts, my memories
Continue to be my number one enemy
This dark obsession with the needle has consumed all
I struggle threw this narrow path and still I fall
Why does leaving this shit still cause me such tension
I go threw life it seems forever…beyond redemption
Always a junkie in the eyes of so many
Forever a fiend, no matter how long I stay clean
So easy to forget all the pain, the stress, the drama
It’s like my brain is now mush
Yet so hard to forget that first intense rush
I poke around till the blood fills my “fit”
Muscles tighten, eyes pin
As a warm opiate blanket covers my skin
I’m always chasing this imaginary high
Faster and faster the years continue to fly
This cycle appears to have no end
My life twists and turns and bends
Back to where the fuck I started…
Back in rehab yet again !
forever untold
Lying in bed in a pool of his own sweat, cant stand the smell, haven’t moved for over an hour
but right now the farthest thing from his mind is to get a fucking shower
been dope sick all day, gut is wrenching, muscles aching
they say most of it is in your head, but this pain theres no faking
How to get money ? burned every bridge, every friend
things he's done there’s no way he can ever mend
he wants go to rehab, but the waiting list is so long
he is sick of this life, but with heroin its hard to be strong
he has two beautiful children whom he loves very much, he was a good father once
the pain and the shame is far to much, he hasnt even thought about them in months
cant believe mom hasn’t kicked him out
she does threaten to, scream & shout
she has aged so much from the shit he put her through
last winter he overdosed she found him cold and blue
he'd be dead if she didn’t come home just then
sometimes he wishes she'd left him there and this nightmare would just end
she cries herself to sleep each night, thinking about her son
who’s now just an evil, deceitful, junkie fucking scum
the good son, high school honors, a time so long ago
his name is not important, so we shall call him john doe
she sleeps with her purse hidden from her kin
sadly tonight he's out to rob her again
doesn’t take him long to locate her wallet
definitely fucked up, whatever you wanna call it
$ 24 dollars was it, two fives and fourteen ones was all he could get
its barely enough to get him “off sick”
it will have 2 do, out the door like a flash
calls his dealer “G” to say “I need 4” cause I finally got some cash
he said met me at the spot, hurry cause im close
wont be more then 5 min, the shady dealer boast
beads of sweat rolled down the back of his neck despite the freezing winter wind
another product of dope sickness, he could not stop the quivering of his chin
is it the cold ? is it the impatience ? probably both
without a doubt this endless waiting game is what any junkie hates most
25 minutes passed before johnny called him back
im standing in the cold, where the fuck are you at ?
Chill mutha fucka I’ll be there pretty fast
his suv came into view after another 30 minutes past
his rims still spinning as he slowed to a stop
G glanced back to make sure the oncoming car was no cop
john doe's violontly shanking hands pass him the fives rolled atop the stack of ones
he wanted it to appear as though he had sufficient funds
better not be short again this time, best be $40 in your hand
he passes him a small bundle, secured tightly with a rubber band
before G had a chance to add up all the cash
johnny boy bolted threw a yard, hauling fuckin ass
amazingly he expolodes with a quick burst of adrenaline
its psycological, just knowing he pocesses his savior, his "bad medicine"
he finds an abandoned house with the door left ajar
again every muscle burns, glad he didnt have to go very far
he finds a spot near a window on the second floor, so the street lamp casts a little light
from his pocket he retrieves the tools of his trade, the weapons of his plight
a syringe, a spoon and water filled in a empty 20oz bottle of pop
he stares at 4 glassine envelopes with the name “hot shot” stamped across the top
many people overdosed recently from this particular stamp bag in the hood
suddenly hes like a kid at Christmas, this means there really good !
One by one he dumps them in the spoon
anticipation for the high he will be feeling very soon
he adds some water to make an iced tea colored devils brew
he has no belt so resorts to take the lace out his shoe
finally cotton from the butt of this menthol cigarette
its used as a filter cause if the needle clogs...he is fucked, u can bet
tying off his track marks become noticeably 3 dimensional
deep and dark from years of drug abuse, normal folk would deem unconventional
as he pulls back surprisingly the rig fills with blood, a sign he is in the vein
usually he has to fish around to find one that hasn’t collapsed, like a snowman in the rain
a grin draws wide as he plunches the liquid poison deep in his arm without a care
all his muscles tighten at once as a tremendous warmth took over despite the bitter cold air
as he slumped into the corner he felt as though he was melting into the wall and tried with no avil to shout
deeper and deeper he began to fall out
tunnel vision began to take hold
he stared silently out the window into the cold
the pulsating street light growing dimmer, as his sight was engulfed by darkness... forever darkness behold
the story of the man he COULD have been...
forever untold
Lying in bed in a pool of his own sweat, cant stand the smell, haven’t moved for over an hour
but right now the farthest thing from his mind is to get a fucking shower
been dope sick all day, gut is wrenching, muscles aching
they say most of it is in your head, but this pain theres no faking
How to get money ? burned every bridge, every friend
things he's done there’s no way he can ever mend
he wants go to rehab, but the waiting list is so long
he is sick of this life, but with heroin its hard to be strong
he has two beautiful children whom he loves very much, he was a good father once
the pain and the shame is far to much, he hasnt even thought about them in months
cant believe mom hasn’t kicked him out
she does threaten to, scream & shout
she has aged so much from the shit he put her through
last winter he overdosed she found him cold and blue
he'd be dead if she didn’t come home just then
sometimes he wishes she'd left him there and this nightmare would just end
she cries herself to sleep each night, thinking about her son
who’s now just an evil, deceitful, junkie fucking scum
the good son, high school honors, a time so long ago
his name is not important, so we shall call him john doe
she sleeps with her purse hidden from her kin
sadly tonight he's out to rob her again
doesn’t take him long to locate her wallet
definitely fucked up, whatever you wanna call it
$ 24 dollars was it, two fives and fourteen ones was all he could get
its barely enough to get him “off sick”
it will have 2 do, out the door like a flash
calls his dealer “G” to say “I need 4” cause I finally got some cash
he said met me at the spot, hurry cause im close
wont be more then 5 min, the shady dealer boast
beads of sweat rolled down the back of his neck despite the freezing winter wind
another product of dope sickness, he could not stop the quivering of his chin
is it the cold ? is it the impatience ? probably both
without a doubt this endless waiting game is what any junkie hates most
25 minutes passed before johnny called him back
im standing in the cold, where the fuck are you at ?
Chill mutha fucka I’ll be there pretty fast
his suv came into view after another 30 minutes past
his rims still spinning as he slowed to a stop
G glanced back to make sure the oncoming car was no cop
john doe's violontly shanking hands pass him the fives rolled atop the stack of ones
he wanted it to appear as though he had sufficient funds
better not be short again this time, best be $40 in your hand
he passes him a small bundle, secured tightly with a rubber band
before G had a chance to add up all the cash
johnny boy bolted threw a yard, hauling fuckin ass
amazingly he expolodes with a quick burst of adrenaline
its psycological, just knowing he pocesses his savior, his "bad medicine"
he finds an abandoned house with the door left ajar
again every muscle burns, glad he didnt have to go very far
he finds a spot near a window on the second floor, so the street lamp casts a little light
from his pocket he retrieves the tools of his trade, the weapons of his plight
a syringe, a spoon and water filled in a empty 20oz bottle of pop
he stares at 4 glassine envelopes with the name “hot shot” stamped across the top
many people overdosed recently from this particular stamp bag in the hood
suddenly hes like a kid at Christmas, this means there really good !
One by one he dumps them in the spoon
anticipation for the high he will be feeling very soon
he adds some water to make an iced tea colored devils brew
he has no belt so resorts to take the lace out his shoe
finally cotton from the butt of this menthol cigarette
its used as a filter cause if the needle clogs...he is fucked, u can bet
tying off his track marks become noticeably 3 dimensional
deep and dark from years of drug abuse, normal folk would deem unconventional
as he pulls back surprisingly the rig fills with blood, a sign he is in the vein
usually he has to fish around to find one that hasn’t collapsed, like a snowman in the rain
a grin draws wide as he plunches the liquid poison deep in his arm without a care
all his muscles tighten at once as a tremendous warmth took over despite the bitter cold air
as he slumped into the corner he felt as though he was melting into the wall and tried with no avil to shout
deeper and deeper he began to fall out
tunnel vision began to take hold
he stared silently out the window into the cold
the pulsating street light growing dimmer, as his sight was engulfed by darkness... forever darkness behold
the story of the man he COULD have been...
forever untold
A better way ?
I spent years on drugs, long past adolescence
but I refuse to spend my life, stuck in convalescence
out here in the country, I think that I’m fine
I drink a lil beer, might sniff a lil line
I know deep inside, this disease will progress
wont be long before I'm back in Pittsburgh, banging dope like the rest
I do ok when im out here all alone
but going back to da burgh, its like a fucking war zone
so much temptation, more then one can resist
going there im fucked, like getting rammed in the ass with a fist
methadone & suboxone are only false hope
I thought I was better cause I had a doctors note
they will say its a way out and comfort your fears
little do they tell you, you will be trapped for years
your only making docs wallet thicker
versus coping off some shady ass nigga
just hope that welfare insurance don’t run out
cause prowling the street for subs is what your whole day will be about
these little pills will even fuck with your head
the withdrawal will make you wish you were dead
it will make heroin detox feel like a mere cold
prolonged use weakens muscles, your bones and will make you feel old
3 months off opiates, still malnourished and under weight
I eat and eat and try to lift weights
sitting in this apartment all alone, no cable tv
watching the same mother fucking 3 dvds
I need something to pass the time
help keep this bull shit off of my mind
fuck meetings, there just a joke
don’t care if im homeless, beat down & broke
many hypocrites, inside those walls
so quick to point out all of your flaws
they preach and preach how great is their life
no longer go home drunk and beat on their wife
now they sip coffee and bitch about there job
and how there new wife is a fucking slob
if I have to hear this shit in order to stay clean
id rather spend my life a fucking dope fiend
I know there has to be a better way
to keep all of my demons at bay
I prey to a god for whom I lost believe
so of course, I get no relief
only prey when I’m fucked..lord get me threw this
prayers might as well be coming from Judas
I’ll say it again, there has to be a better way
all I can do is take it day by day
I prow the internet for information on addiction
seems like I know more about this damn affliction
so called experts don’t know shit
I swear they intend to keep us all sick
traditional rehabs don’t work, with there 4% success rate
there fishing for dollars, with heroin as bait
its all about money, as with anything in life
getting rich on ones misery and painful strife
its all one big racket, like alcohol & Capone
only difference is its legal, guess no option but to go it alone
I'm open to suggestion, a new point of view
there has to be a better way, a new path to pursue
fuck this poem, I've run out of words
hied this warning, or be like cattle and follow the herds
I spent years on drugs, long past adolescence
but I refuse to spend my life, stuck in convalescence
out here in the country, I think that I’m fine
I drink a lil beer, might sniff a lil line
I know deep inside, this disease will progress
wont be long before I'm back in Pittsburgh, banging dope like the rest
I do ok when im out here all alone
but going back to da burgh, its like a fucking war zone
so much temptation, more then one can resist
going there im fucked, like getting rammed in the ass with a fist
methadone & suboxone are only false hope
I thought I was better cause I had a doctors note
they will say its a way out and comfort your fears
little do they tell you, you will be trapped for years
your only making docs wallet thicker
versus coping off some shady ass nigga
just hope that welfare insurance don’t run out
cause prowling the street for subs is what your whole day will be about
these little pills will even fuck with your head
the withdrawal will make you wish you were dead
it will make heroin detox feel like a mere cold
prolonged use weakens muscles, your bones and will make you feel old
3 months off opiates, still malnourished and under weight
I eat and eat and try to lift weights
sitting in this apartment all alone, no cable tv
watching the same mother fucking 3 dvds
I need something to pass the time
help keep this bull shit off of my mind
fuck meetings, there just a joke
don’t care if im homeless, beat down & broke
many hypocrites, inside those walls
so quick to point out all of your flaws
they preach and preach how great is their life
no longer go home drunk and beat on their wife
now they sip coffee and bitch about there job
and how there new wife is a fucking slob
if I have to hear this shit in order to stay clean
id rather spend my life a fucking dope fiend
I know there has to be a better way
to keep all of my demons at bay
I prey to a god for whom I lost believe
so of course, I get no relief
only prey when I’m fucked..lord get me threw this
prayers might as well be coming from Judas
I’ll say it again, there has to be a better way
all I can do is take it day by day
I prow the internet for information on addiction
seems like I know more about this damn affliction
so called experts don’t know shit
I swear they intend to keep us all sick
traditional rehabs don’t work, with there 4% success rate
there fishing for dollars, with heroin as bait
its all about money, as with anything in life
getting rich on ones misery and painful strife
its all one big racket, like alcohol & Capone
only difference is its legal, guess no option but to go it alone
I'm open to suggestion, a new point of view
there has to be a better way, a new path to pursue
fuck this poem, I've run out of words
hied this warning, or be like cattle and follow the herds
Final Flight
Your painful struggle, it ends today
and no, I will not leave your side
once you've breathed your final breath
my wings, for you, I'll open wide
Now as you lay here beneath me
I'll keep you warm, embrace you with love
for your family, I leave this angel feather
they'll know that I'll take you up Above
Overdosed, but without the intention
the end, it draws nearer now
you fought to win this battle
but it defeated you some how
I feel whats holding you back now
wanting your mom and your dad to know
that you love them and your sorry
from them, you did not choose to go
Your time has come, you've slipped away
sadly, the drugs have won this fight
on my wings, I will fly you away
be at peace, this is your Final Flight...
Your painful struggle, it ends today
and no, I will not leave your side
once you've breathed your final breath
my wings, for you, I'll open wide
Now as you lay here beneath me
I'll keep you warm, embrace you with love
for your family, I leave this angel feather
they'll know that I'll take you up Above
Overdosed, but without the intention
the end, it draws nearer now
you fought to win this battle
but it defeated you some how
I feel whats holding you back now
wanting your mom and your dad to know
that you love them and your sorry
from them, you did not choose to go
Your time has come, you've slipped away
sadly, the drugs have won this fight
on my wings, I will fly you away
be at peace, this is your Final Flight...
Feeling addicted to you eyes
As the Carmel melts
You lay you hand
And all I can say is love me
My addiction you ask
I have several
Like feeling hated only because they love me
Denying the eyes in which are spoken but will never speak
Addiction is a hunger
A feeling to feel
A feeling to be found
My addiction
Never to drugs
Or gambling
Not even to sexual intensions
My addiction
Is only to those who understand
id rather be alone but my addiction
Is scary for my mind it is never unspoken
It never speaks
But my addiction
See once and you'll never unsee it
As the Carmel melts
You lay you hand
And all I can say is love me
My addiction you ask
I have several
Like feeling hated only because they love me
Denying the eyes in which are spoken but will never speak
Addiction is a hunger
A feeling to feel
A feeling to be found
My addiction
Never to drugs
Or gambling
Not even to sexual intensions
My addiction
Is only to those who understand
id rather be alone but my addiction
Is scary for my mind it is never unspoken
It never speaks
But my addiction
See once and you'll never unsee it
"Maybe I Won't"
I think I'm going to quit
Put it down and forget
Now to alleviate the toxins so my body is cleansed
But yet again there's a whisper in my ear
Pulling me back
The consequences are severe
Now it's been about a year plus three more
Smoking by the seashore
Everyday thing
Once on occasion tripled three-score
It's time to draw the line
Demarcation
No longer escaping a problem now its time to face it
No procrastination
Perhaps the damage had been done
Abandoned my body but I was busy having fun
I say I'm going to stop
I really really mean it
Or maybe I won't and I'm just really only dreaming
I think I'm going to quit
Put it down and forget
Now to alleviate the toxins so my body is cleansed
But yet again there's a whisper in my ear
Pulling me back
The consequences are severe
Now it's been about a year plus three more
Smoking by the seashore
Everyday thing
Once on occasion tripled three-score
It's time to draw the line
Demarcation
No longer escaping a problem now its time to face it
No procrastination
Perhaps the damage had been done
Abandoned my body but I was busy having fun
I say I'm going to stop
I really really mean it
Or maybe I won't and I'm just really only dreaming
"If You Don't, Don't Start"
I know it gets rough
Seem like faith is not enough
When it seem everything that you dreamed
Will not become
But a message to all troubled folks
Who live it broke
I don't care where you're from
Don't be dumb and choose to smoke
It was a mistake
Slowly puffin' my life away
But now that I do it
Gotta say
The price you pay isn't nearly as worth having fun but staying pure
As death always comes to the ones with plans
Sure as you can withstand circumstances
Control your life
Tread on the tracks of the path we know as righteous
Life is just as hard as you'd make it to be
And trouble doesn't last long
You could take it from me
Because I peeped the outcome at the earliest stage
The burnin' rage
Turn a page from the surliest phase
And yes I did avoid the venom but still wasn't a phenom
It took a minute to get to the point I'm living
Like the rose
That sprouted from the concrete
The struggle had painted a picture
Only some see
Held up the hustle until it made my palms bleed
Still stuck in a habit
That only makes my lungs scream
I know it gets rough
Seem like faith is not enough
When it seem everything that you dreamed
Will not become
But a message to all troubled folks
Who live it broke
I don't care where you're from
Don't be dumb and choose to smoke
It was a mistake
Slowly puffin' my life away
But now that I do it
Gotta say
The price you pay isn't nearly as worth having fun but staying pure
As death always comes to the ones with plans
Sure as you can withstand circumstances
Control your life
Tread on the tracks of the path we know as righteous
Life is just as hard as you'd make it to be
And trouble doesn't last long
You could take it from me
Because I peeped the outcome at the earliest stage
The burnin' rage
Turn a page from the surliest phase
And yes I did avoid the venom but still wasn't a phenom
It took a minute to get to the point I'm living
Like the rose
That sprouted from the concrete
The struggle had painted a picture
Only some see
Held up the hustle until it made my palms bleed
Still stuck in a habit
That only makes my lungs scream
