Long Drug use Poems
Long Drug use Poems. Below are the most popular long Drug use by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Drug use poems by poem length and keyword.
This family I was born in was assigned to destroyed my life
I presently can't rent an apartment, be sheltered or work
So many lies has been told to keep me from prospering
Identity theft, fraud, forgery, false reports, and statements
PPP loan was collected, purchase of a Dodge Durango
I was involuntary and falsely institutionalized 10-31-20
Crimes committed in my name by strangers and family
A specific doctor was injecting me with poison
Attempts of murder on my life in many forms ie..
Motor accidents, hitmen, poisons, prescriptions, and
False diagnoses of Cancer twice; got me to cut off my breasts
Staged funeral to collect a false life insurance claim
Members of law enforcement, judicial, insurance agents
Bank and medical institutions, funeral directors, utility, military
United States Postal Services, masonic and eastern star cults
International criminals exploited women through HA programs
Catholic Non-Profit Humanitarians used homeless drug addicts and
prostitutes to gang stalk me hacked and traced all my devices
I have been followed and tracked my whole life. Fallen Angel System
I have been homeless since August 2023; no criminal records
No drug use, no affiliation to criminal social circles/ covens
No one will rent to me; the system or the narrative of my reputation
This system has came up against me all my life as I recollect
It has used vessels to ruin my character and my reputation
Those living with illusion of scarcity will do anything for money
AI/CGI was used to put me in places with people I never been
Strangers took pictures of me as they stalked me
They run me off jobs or can't get hire for any corporation
I'm not able to promote my art(paintings) to make a living
It's not appreciated that I was born to see through the illusions
People(Vessels), places, and things of a system that is leading
and deceiving this world of humanity down a history repeating
path of destruction of this Earth.
I am still surviving despite of everything that is happening!
I am innocent.
I contemplate endings and beginnings, as the globe turns much more times than my
Better chances have burned, I feel eternity's intent to smaller or larger affairs is
Almost democratic In it's indifference, also i pick up inferrance of certain change
Yet life & death are quite unmoved, still intransigent binary bedfellows trencher men
Swallowing our life's days nights efforts, in what cause? The cause of freedom? the
Cause of consumerism? One thing I feel it cannot be for love' or honour; or equality
So if its none of the above what can we gain? What do we count as gain? Division?
Derision? Knife crime tension fear, we have the one parent familys the children in
Pre school all day, women at risk at when alone; prolific drug use, the hostility to
Creation and God' The stifling of free speech? We have all these as part of our reality
Yet more is required it seems' ore will redress the balance? Or should that be
Imbalance.?
I did not know her music,
But I’ve read of her travails.
It seemed that all her problems
Only ratcheted her sales.
Her concerts made the news because
She barely could perform;
For her, intoxication
And/or drug use was the norm.
Like Kurt Cobain before her,
And like Jimi, Janis, Jim*,
Her talent seemed authentic,
Her survival chances slim.
It really is a shame to hear
That someone is found dead
At the age of twenty-seven,
With a lifetime still ahead.
But tortured souls have got to do
Whatever they are drawn to,
And we can only wonder ‘bout
The places they have gone to.
It’s sad to be so talented
But plainly, quite tormented.
I’d rather have less talent
But be somewhat more contented.
*Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison
There was a dead little cat
Splayed in the middle lane of Washington Street
While I passed
And there was a man clumped to the curb
Pinching his chubby chin
Between his thumb and index finger
Like a final played poker chip
His eyes as flattened as aces on cards
In a corner bar across the street
While the police rubbed his shoulders and pencil notes
From the rotten sounds ground between his teeth.
Another man a driveway down
Has a nose displaced a million miles from his face
Smeared into his hanky.
Hoping no one notices
A woman wiggles in the wind out back
Like a Fentanyl clothesline clipped with a menu
Her age is a choice.
A third man on his back naps
In that front yard
Clutching his hands
To a samurai sword’s shiny blade
Slippery and stood straight up
From under and through him
Bubbling
Like a park fountain of roses.
Did it all start this morning
In their tiny crooked house?
Their cat scooting from underneath
A missed kick and through a crick
Of an unhinged front door
Out to the busy road?
If that for them
Was quite simply the last straw?
Do I wanna publish? Let me think this through...
I only wanna publish, if my work means something to you
I only wanna publish, if my writing like thunder strikes you with truth
And I only wanna publish, if my work ends up being sentimental to you
I don't wanna publish, 'cause my writing still causes me tears
I don't wanna publish, 'cause inking ose pages are my open heart, thoughts, & fears
My writing is like a diary - it tends to set me free
They are without a doubt, my emotions and pain that these pages bleed
I don't wanna publish, for greed, fame, fortune, riches, virgins, control, or power
All my tears, blood, sweat, experiences, hurt, and my life has been super sour
I'm brutally blunt and it will trigger - and most people can't handle that
My writing can reflect bullying - especially in those years I was unnecessarily fat
There's domestic violence, sex, hate, and an extremely naughty sailor's mouth
There's writing about my drug use and homelessness - without a f--king couch
There's poetry about love, life, suicide, and especially on death
There's solitude and sedation, narcotics, and those bad memories I've kept
There's poetry about addiction, homosexuality, and a whole bunch on suicide
There's a bunch of poems on true murders - where a lot of mine have died
My writing is not for the weak, immature, or faint-hearted
There's lots of poetry on love - how it ended and when it started
A lot of my priceless energy I've spent on my rhymes and my words
Utilizing an enormous vocabulary, on nouns, adjectives, and verbs
There's short-stories & non-fiction about my witchcraft path
And on those pages with colors of ink pens - illicits a hellspawn of wrath
There's rage in those pages - trapped in cages
There's rape, hurt, blood, wishes, and infinite tears
Do I wanna publish my work? Yes; I heard - but my answer right now is I don't know
considering there's 15 years of my entire life written in wickedly defensive words...
If John hadn't died because of drugs, he would've turned forty-nine today.
If John hadn't died, his fiftieth birthday would've been just one year away.
The paramedics had planned to perform CPR but they saw it was something John didn't need.
They quickly learned that performing CPR would've done no good so they did not proceed.
Sadly, John had died and he went to be with the Lord.
His arm was sticking upward, he was as stiff as a board.
I learned about the circumstances of his death from the people who he lived with.
John had done me wrong before he died and the time has come for me to forgive.
I had to threaten him with legal action because he'd been coming in my house and swiping some of my medicine.
I informed him that I'd have him arrested if he came on my property again.
Because of taking drugs, those drugs turned out to be John's noose.
Sadly, he was destined to die because of his many years of drug use.
[Dedicated to John Brown (1970-2019) who died on June 3, 2019.]
UNFINISHED NOVEL
by Matthew Tripley
Once, an author I tried to be...
Dazed In The Life was my story.
Movies and music - central themes
Plotting characters and their schemes.
Surrounding the shootings of breeze,
Misbehaviour and murder sprees.
Put together in their fusion...
Somewhat coming to conclusion.
Summary, I will try to tell
If my memory serves me well.
Nebula and Desdemona...
Teenage girls, twirlers by stoner.
The latter, main protagonist...
The first one, there to coexist.
Drug use, their preoccupation...
Truant in their education.
Upon the road, an accident...
Death of a father - heaven sent.
His daughter's personal chaos
Which stems out of this sudden loss.
Years of practised self-destruction...
Mayhem rising - no deduction.
Mostly centred around one day,
More characters come into play.
Marijuana smoking brother.
A widowed and using mother.
A walking, talking enigma
With his passion for cinema.
A dealer and a trolley boy.
Two lesbians, each other's toy.
All who come across each other...
Points of plot from one another.
Confrontations of a female...
Missions of murder left in trail.
Acquaintance with a hat on top.
The server in a bottle shop.
A teacher who becomes a mate.
A pair of junkies with ill fate...
The killing of them taking place
In another man's garage space.
At the end, a resolution
Simple in its execution.
Ceasing of substance depending...
Desdemona's happy ending.
Not looked into for a while,
This story sits on a pile.
Perhaps with the correct mindset,
I may start to re-pen it yet.
walks with trampolines on his feet
Cracks jokes with the mortician
Reminds you of drunk uncle Todd at any wedding ever
Chops oak trees with a single swift swing
Smartest in the room full of doctors
Success comes effortless
behind this exhausting sophisticated façade
he possesses the confidence of a failure
Misery equal to a mother
whose youngest son died in a motorcycle accident
unable to cry real tears
thirsty for affection
or to feel weightless
from the anvils on his shoulders
A never ending replay
It was the black ice's fault
not his
Blaming himself for what happened
to a dear friend
now taking an eternal dirt nap
Deep shards of pain, like the rough edges of broken glass,
are embedded so deep in my heart
that I do not know if I even feel
the pain any more
"I hate you" echoes through my head
as the words you uttered to me just a few weeks ago
but your eyes are clear, not hazed over from drug use
you don't smell like alcohol or body odor
you seem excited about having a job,
life for you has changed for the better in a short time,
like you were tumbled in the sea of change
but I still hurt you by forcing you into rehab
Will you and I heal from this rift?
I am not sure if you will get over your anger from my
actions as a desperate mom,
but I see you healing physically and mentally
and I am grateful that you are alive to heal, like
broken glass tumbled in the sea to form something beautiful,
and I pray that you will one day forgive me.
Ever since I was a child and throughout my growing up
All I kept saying was, Enough Mom, Enough
The addiction from your drug use affected our family much
Many nights I sat and cried just longing for your touch
There were times I felt alone and was so in need of a hug
But it was clearly obvious you were more in need of a drug
To be free from addiction is a very hard thing
And each day I wondered what the next would bring
There's pain you're hiding deep within
A pain that only God can mend
It's time for change, it's needed for yourself
For God can heal your hurting heart, you won't need drugs to help
Repent, release and God will restore
The strength to conquer this addiction and more
Although I never told you cause I felt you didn't care
I only wanted my mom around, but you were never there
Being a child I didn't know what to think cause I was just a kid
As an adult I reflect on the choices you made
And everything that you did
There were times at night and throughout the day
I'd look for food to eat
You were not there to cook for me, you chose to be in the street
For the friends who come over and wanta get high
It's time to tell those friends good-bye
I want to know what it would be like for me
To have my mom clean and drug free
Every morning you awake Mom to see another day
You give me more of a reason to go to God and pray
The years of using drugs to me truly don't have to define
For God can do the wonderful thing of redeeming us back our time
Enough is Enough!
Colette Dright