Drug Poems | Examples of Drug Poetry

It hurts because; we were once so close until drugs made you a drifter. The person you used to be... I miss her. It's as though I lost a piece - the best piece of me && now I'm just someone's little sister. I'm scared because; you doesn't see your beauty,  or shout with courage anymore. I'm scared because you’re hurting and I don't...

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I think God is deaf and blind But, God is not dumb I thought He couldn’t feel I thought He had no feelings He gave away all his senses He’s a raving magician Waving his wand making orbits Birthing stars without sperm Destroying lives in every galaxy Does he care about this lonely planet? He gave His eyes to behold Him He gave bees and us...

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Some days, too much is not enough. Other days, just enough is too much. What I used to do just to get my fix. Remembering that person who I used to be. That temporary reprieve. Lasting for what feels like only heartbeats. That temporary reprieve from physical, emotional ache. The bridges I’ve burned. The pain...

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Just one more taste. Just one more hit. How I miss your smoky, ashy, charred aroma, that taste. Your smoky, ashy, charred aroma haunts me, begging me to take one hit. Just one more inhale. That smoky, ashy, charred aroma, taste of that rebellious girl I once knew. ...

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A good sense of humour blunts the sharp blades Lifting a heavy heart, making our burden fades Permanent or temporary, it’s facial muscles' relaxant aid Bringing joy and laughter, keep it as a precious jade! Humour is anti-stress, a powerful medicine in life A priceless cream to cure our cuts from trial’s knife When some difficult circumstances come rife Exchange humour with...

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Kensington spreads its legs— lets the city crawl in, dripping Xylazine / fentanyl / tranq, open sore veins moaning dirty dirges. False prophets— all piss and panic— bark half-lies through decaying molars, fingering apathy for spare change. You smell it five blocks before you enter. The stench tests your soul before it reaches your throat. Narcan. burnt spoons. street toilet. Dreams twitch under heat lamps— larval things too stubborn to die. Hope? Hope’s a half-smoked, laced Newport balanced...

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The day they proclaimed addiction to be a disease is the day drug abuse spread like a weed The powers that be profit from prolonged disease not so much from personal responsibility they legalized dope to keep people pacified and numb then lay tax on the working man-play us for chumps They've turned this country from a cool place to...

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Always gliding across wood paneled floor. Always dancing right by the bedroom door. Always squishing cookie shaped stress ball. Always bouncing off of the guest room wall....

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It’s so strong The urges The addiction Weak in what merges Me To only have to ask to forgive me Perfection is far from me No it’s Not easy to admit But the truth isn’t hard to see But you’re still here With me Your patience is authentic Seeing the pain in your eyes When I ask and do Embarrassed is my truth Yet I still go...

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The factories long disappeared, Silent structures still stay; And more drugs than dreams have appeared, In Kensington today. The north of the Ave has its shine, Less fine, southerly way; Best Philly, and worst, intertwine, In Kensington today. Six miles, in a small corner curled, “What matter?” you may say; Well, the world is here, here’s the world, In Kensington today. ...

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*This poem was written for "Kensington Avenue Poetry Contest, Anthony Biaanco, sponsor, July 20, 2025 KENSINGTON'S LAMENT ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Her city streets are grey and worn, with a denim sky overhead. Birdsong trickles out in fractured waves, as if feathered friends cried while flying her way. Engines sputter; horns blare. People hurry by her in silence, eyes down, broken...

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They called it short gratification— but I lost my soul in the trade. A moment’s pleasure, for a lifetime of emptiness, a spark that consumed the temple I once was. O Woman, your body is not desire’s playground— it is the chalice of divinity. If you fail to respect your sacred form, no man ever will. Each man you lie with, leaves an imprint upon your soul. And...

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I was so high I don't recall being high I sat in the basement waiting to come down I hung with a friend, hung with, who was that boy We waited in the bar while he waited for the bus I called my gran, my safeguard, she knew something was up Something is wrong, something isnae quite right I found out...

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She offered him a pill; he tried it as a teen, and still recalls that he saw beings never seen in colours no one knew, on worlds where no one's been... written 12th July for Nette's KALEIDOSCOPIC contest...

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