Drug Use Poems - Poems about Drug Use

Monkey in a cage

You’ll Pick out everybody’s problems but you wont help your self 
You’d rather sit alone in pity then take care of your health
You act like it’s everybody’s fault you’ve got nothing to gain
using Magic capsules to escape your own brain
Can’t give yourself a break so you wanna do it over again 
Someone help this monkey

In my room

No variation in this dark tomb
Spinning in orbit of loss and the need for needing
Grey spirits begging for my healing
Grey spirits crawling along the ceiling
Madness is my adaptation 

Lost in the essence of essential reverence
Lost spinning for a need of your presence 
Chased by the haunting past and present 
Here I come to loom
No variation

Someone's Little Sister

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

Does God feel?

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

Addiction

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

Cigarette

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. 

A Good Sense Of Humour Blunts The Sharp Blades

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

No One Counts the Bodies Jesus Walked Past

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

Money Pig

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

Always Up To Something

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.

Beyond the Veils of Kensington Street

Checked by www.howmanysyllables.com

Forgive Me

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

In Kensington Today

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.

KENSINGTON'S LAMENT

*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

Crime of Sex

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

• Short Drug Use Poems
• Famous Drug Use Poems
• Best Drug Use Poems
• Read Drug Use Poems
• Long Drug Use Poems
• Drug Use Quotes