Addiction

KwyjiboKwyjibo Posts: 662
edited December 2004 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
I'm still and quiet
no one can see me
I fade into shadow
the tireless foe is licking
his chops with greed and haste
as I skip cross the pool's shimmer

sight right upon me
I can sense its presence
a shudder shoots, up my spine
my knees buckle
when the bullet hits my leg
and I fall in the chocolate mud

Snowflakes fall on my dead face
the white powder I loved so much
the sick indulgence I always knew
would blow up in my face
The most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway, is that its you, and that you're standing in the doorway.

I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
Post edited by Unknown User on

Comments

  • oldermanolderman Posts: 1,765
    I intended to post a new thread.. but I decided to add to yours..

    The Walrus Does Funny Things To The Veins In His Left Arm, alright..

    draws red from blue,
    stakes claims,
    makes ruins of cognition,
    flaws synaptic transmit,

    borrows glad from you,
    craves and maims,
    staves not ruinition,
    follows the saddest scrit
    Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
    As she slams the door in his drunken face
    And now he stands outside
    And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
    He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
    What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
    Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
    And his tears fall and burn the garden green
  • KwyjiboKwyjibo Posts: 662
    well thanks for posting that here :)
    I enjoyed the title.
    The most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway, is that its you, and that you're standing in the doorway.

    I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
  • Both very nice, insightful poems about addiction. Thank you both for them. I will add my own (well, it is one of many I have on the subject) to this thread. It's about alcohol withdrawal, also known as Delirium Tremens, which is also the title:


    Delirium Tremens

    Your blood boils, and then
    It seems that there
    Might be nothing
    Else; that this
    Time you may have
    Gotten away lucky:
    A clearness as of
    Frigid water forced
    Over your sleeping
    Head. But then
    Civilization crowds around
    Your peripheral
    Sight;
    With every possible image
    Comes another,
    And yet another;
    All feverish history
    Coalesced within your
    Optical nerve;
    You can't see
    The sides of the
    Hallway, only
    The carpet or ceiling:
    The insects of progress
    Buzz swarmingly
    Around your outer
    Sockets,
    Visions forming in the mass
    Like grass clippings
    Or clouds:
    Not hallucinations
    Really
    But cognizant unrealities:
    Beowulf sleeping
    On the Golden Gate,
    Stiff underwear marching
    Over Leningrad,
    Broken pills in a dresser drawer
    Beside the scissors,
    Impossibly large globs
    Of mascara and gin syrup
    Banging on the door,
    Warm flashes of wanton islands
    Searching through
    Your soaked drunken pants
    Finding car keys
    And onions,
    Printing presses moaning
    And gurgling
    Under a mooney sky
    Twitching about for the
    Relief of their burden,
    Your socks sprouting wings
    Or maybe leaves,
    Your own face
    Before you, magnified
    A million times, people living
    In the pores of your nose
    Criticizing your naked blushing body,
    The woman beside you
    Not a body but a
    Pencil, an amorous,
    Pensive pencil
    Laying purposefully inert,
    The woman a mast of
    Swarming, cogent
    Bugs
    Within the periphery of your
    Periphery,
    Not to be touched
    Or even contemplated upon.
    Then amidst the visions--
    Among the boiling blood--
    The most terrible:
    Quakes, small
    At first like
    Tiny skeletal nudges,
    Barely
    Consequential spasms
    Of reversed desire,
    Years of stored-up
    Bodily indulgence
    Backfiring fumes
    Through your epidermis;
    Then gaining size,
    Quakes becoming
    Explosions, massive,
    Unending, will-less.
    The lamp hits the floor,
    Maybe it shatters,
    Maybe it doesn't,
    The sheets torn
    From the bed
    In a heap in the
    Corner,
    Everywhere you touch
    You may destroy:
    It is not up to you:
    It is no longer up to you:
    What once was a choice
    Now jumps through your extremities
    In a series of jolts
    Which have gone beyond
    The warning stage
    And entered
    Delirium Tremens,
    The last bastion of the blood you own
    Needing more,
    While screaming for so much less.
    .........................................................................
  • KwyjiboKwyjibo Posts: 662
    ah yes, alcohol withdrawals. Sometimes I get the shakes when I haven't drank a few days you know.
    The most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway, is that its you, and that you're standing in the doorway.

    I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
  • Kwyjibo wrote:
    ah yes, alcohol withdrawals. Sometimes I get the shakes when I haven't drank a few days you know.

    I know all too well. I haven't been there for awhile, though. Managed to get away from it, but only after dropping to some pretty low lows. I'd get the dt's after a few dry hours. Which makes it difficult to work, or do much of anything else. Life seems to pretty much fall away after awhile.

    Here's a poem I wrote about the falling-apart of life after some years of very constant drinking:

    At Twenty-Five

    At seventeen I told the fourteen year-olds
    Wait till you see what happens here
    At twenty I said to those with eighteen
    You cannot imagine how strenuous it becomes
    At twenty-one I advised the younger
    Trust someone who has already seen it all
    At twenty-three I screamed in their faces
    Go back! Prepare to rue the world!
    Now at twenty-five I ask the nineteen-year-olds
    Who's in charge here? What's happening to me?

    Am I to start over?
    .........................................................................
  • FinsburyParkCarrotsFinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    A bump for a fine thread. There's some really powerful work on here.
  • ISNISN Posts: 1,700
    At twenty-five is sad/good

    olderman....I liked yours

    Kwijbo (sp).....yours was good too.....

    heheheheheh....

    nivir been addicted to drugs or alcholol heheheehe

    (kidding....I haven't been addicted to alcohol yet.....or drugs.....or sex....or fukkin death....right now I'm addicted to GOD and my baby)
    ....they're asking me to prove why I should be allowed to stay with my baby in Australia, because I'm mentally ill......and they think I should leave......
  • ISN wrote:

    (kidding....I haven't been addicted to alcohol yet.....or drugs.....or sex....or fukkin death....right now I'm addicted to GOD and my baby)


    I'm with ya there ISN...the only way I could stop drinking was to become addicted to God...and it's a lot more fun!
    .........................................................................
  • nailz100nailz100 Posts: 1,176
    Did somebody say addiction?
    Only with our eyes closed can we truly see
  • Thank you for sharing. I loved it..
    It doesnt hurt.... when I bleed
    but memories...they eat me
    I've seen it all before,...
    bring it on cause I'm no victim.
    -Ghost
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