Long Overdosed Poems
Long Overdosed Poems. Below are the most popular long Overdosed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Overdosed poems by poem length and keyword.
THE WINTER CEMETERY
Awaken my nightmare!
Cold, wrinkled skin, eye circles beyond care.
Tears of beautiful snow.
O depths to which they go!
A horse and carriage show.
The gate — a cliff of iron bars, mine heir.
The creak of springs, the box —
ornate, carries my frozen heart, on blocks
of ice — my pretty niece.
Oh shroud of snow, I cease
to live - i have no peace!
O that cancerous gong of Winter clocks!
Wrapped in woolen fetters,
I boldly stare at these money-getters.
The doc misdiagnosed,
and the nurse overdosed.
In an icebox — her ghost.
This cemetery shivers with debtors.
She’ll be buried next to
you, beloved son, youth taken by flu.
I lean on the hard chest.
Winter blooms on my breast.
Dear son, I’ll never rest!
Cold stones, for bounty, as my flames accrue.
12/20/2017
Rhyme Me A Poem Contest
Broken Wings - Sponsor
i overdosed for the first time last night
all the times i spent trying before
didn't seem as bad anymore
i laid in bed trying to sleep
hoping this would be the time
my eyes stayed closed forever
but i was held awake against my will
deep in my brain,
i knew something was wrong
even if this is what i've been wishing for
for so long
in the past i managed to fall right to sleep
when i took less than i did now
i wanted to be swept into dreamland
but the wheels in my brain kept turning
and my body did too
flipping back and forth
trying to be in a comfortable final position
i kept getting hot
no matter how little blanket i had on
and the wave of nausea hit
i thought i could be fine
go to sleep, make it all go away
all of it
but as i rushed into my bathroom
at four in the morning
i knew tonight wouldn't be the night
as my head hung over the toilet
i wondered why i'm forced to stay
reliving the same treacherous days
without anyone knowing
because how do you even bring that up?
to someone?
i don't know why this world is so adamant
to keep me here, held captive as a prisoner
is this karma?
what did i do that was so bad?
to deserve this?
Some movies, we want to experience, again and again,
from the prologue, until it crashes, into the credits.
With waves of laughter and tears, oft happily afters.
Some movies, we value the sum, wishing to whiplash
through the reel, for its too real, with smoking guns.
We love the family hugs at the start, but it breaks our hearts
all through the middle parts, as if we’ve been gutted or shot.
Specially, taking the loved ones into a church, securing
the doors and nailing the windows shut. Claustrophobia
of the sinister, of the dark, of the red and blue flames.
The splinters, the bruises, the beatings, the fear, the burn
hold onto the credits, tear through the compassionate soul.
The movie was gut-wrenchingly good, but torturous.
We sigh, as we say our goodbyes, especially when
we know that the actor has overdosed, joined the dead
in his youth. The truth of weaving a tale, summing up life.
6/20/2023
Trying to make it through “The Patriot”
Would it be
I thought I was happy
But I realized that I was lying
Pain inside of me digs a grave
A grave for me to enter
I'm tired of being fake
When sorrows have befriended me
I'm broken yet I pretend to be okay
Deeply corroded by this toxic life
My heart is black
No longer red like it was suppose to be
I have even ran out of tears
Because of the grieve that I am
Would it be wrong if I
If I hung myself up with a rope
Just to end this misery
To put an end to this pain
Would it be wrong if I
Overdosed pills till the bottle went empty
Just to set myself free
To unfold what is on the other side of life
Would it be wrong if I
Drank something toxic till my organs shredded
Just to be happy on the other side
To be in a place which is more accommodating
Woke up this morning
With news headlines spawning
I do not know if it's winter yet
Because of old age I often forget
Got to realise how weird it is
When I can brush my teeth
And scratch my nose
But try as I might
I just can't touch my toes
Wasn't too bothered when
Often times back ache set in
And even when Viagra
Didn't give me the desired vim
But this is not a funny joke
The morning when I woke
And begin to realize
That I could twist my hip
Do a jig
But try as I might ,
I just can't tough my toes.
Pinocchio was a lier
Kristine Keeler was a hooker
And Lord Lampton got exposed
But trouble comes in different parcels
But where mine is heading
God only knows
When my wallet drop on the floor
Bend down to pick it up
Like brass monkey in winter
The entire lumber vertebrae, froze
Often times mi get a pain in the neck
When it comes, I can deal with it
Sometimes mi love to dance
Do a foxtrot and even a quickstep
But that is no compensation
When mi toe nail look like talon
And size ten no longer fit mi
But try as I might to cover them
With knitted socks, mi get since when
Its a doomed attempt
Flexibility is now a distant memory
And back ache now my closest friend
Mi know young people
Will laugh at old people's talk
But it only seems like yesterday
When I too was laughing
But today , I am walking the walk.
The same thing whey a reach mi
Is the same thing a happen to mi friend
But if you think it can't reach you
You better think again
Mi used to be a little sprite
Do head spins and bouncing somersaults
Do some boxing, and throw down a fight
But time travels faster than lightening
And my black hair overdosed on whitening
So before you reach my milestone
Heed my warning, get enlighten
That one day, not so far away
Things are going to be past memories
Because try as you might
You may bend your knees ,
Scratch your nose
Try as you might
You just can't touch your toes.
For 65 years, I had no need to be under the care of a doctor, nor was I ever on prescription medication except for dental issues. At 65, I went to see my assigned primary doctor, and after saying hello, my next words were, "Doctor, just give me no pain". I admit, for 6 decades, I had been blessed with a pain-free life and was spoiled.
Twice in my life, I have been a patient in the hospital. My best memory tells me that it was some 40 years ago when I sought minor surgery for the removal of a growth on my wrist. They did a swell job, and the scare is barely visible after all these years. However, I do remember that I was given too much Valium, and passed out in the hall way returning to my room from the shower. Not good. Imagine if you please. The first administering of drugs to me resulted in being overdosed. My first personal impression and experience with drugs and hospitals was a bad one.
Second time around was five years ago for a pace maker insertion. Excellent work by the cardiologist and his aids. However, during my two-day stay, I was given medications and pain killers that my body was not used to. After being sent home, the pain killers shut my regulation system down, resulting in serious constipation. The spasmatic pains were far greater that any from the heart procedure; and I was forced to return to the emergency where I waited for hours in pain.
I finally saw a doctor who remedied my issue. I do not know if my case was typical, but if it is, one can count on hospital visits as places where remedies are pretty common, but pain-free or overdose-free experiences, not so much. Nevertheless, I cannot imagine a world free of hospitals.
072520PS
When I was fifteen my friend 'Riff' and I
started our very own garage band,
and for the first year we truly stank,
but I've always been a dedicated man.
I pushed Riff, and we quickly got better,
soon started writing songs of our own,
got a drummer, 'Bomber,' and bassist, Caplan,
folks were downloading our songs to their phones.
Soon we attracted big league attention,
and at twenty I signed us to a deal,
our album sold big, our downloads bigger,
all of our rock star dreams become real.
It was at this time I sat and thought
of the musicians who had gone before,
the mistakes and pitfalls that had dogged them,
and would be the end of many bands more.
I had no desire to exit this world,
as had the great Bonham and Mercury,
made myself a goal, even wrote it out,
I would moderate my debauchery.
This was no easy thing for a young man
now living the celebrity life,
it's not like I didn't sleep with groupies,
hell one of them would become my wife!
But I tried to avoid the easier ones,
which is a difficult thing to do,
could you turn away a smoking hot girl
wearing just a smile and tattoo?
But more often than not my will won out,
an I always used good protection,
no use throwing all your health away
in the name of temporary fun.
And it isn't like I did not drink,
I have always enjoyed a cold beer,
but I'd get drunk no more than once a week,
and hired drivers to assuage our fears.
It's also fair to say that I smoke some pot,
though honestly, it was never my thing,
but I used it to draw a hard line,
because the hard stuff was damn frightening.
The result was that I managed to keep
my head despite all the money and fame,
unfortunately I just kind of assumed
that all my band-mates would think the same way.
I guess that's a common human mistake,
as Caplan's problems soon would attest,
he wasn't satisfied with Mary Jane,
and was soon fond of heroin and meth.
He missed interviews, he even missed shows,
even woke up naked in Central Park,
whenever he was called out about it
he'd say,”Guys, I'm just having a lark!”
But it got so bad that Caplan was fired,
on him we could no longer rely,
a year later he overdosed at home,
only twenty-seven and he died...
CONTINUES IN PART II
Clutter of echoing chirpings up my sylvan irreverent tune
detaching reckless realities carefully sewn above a sovereign moon
Velvet violin tunes arose to a bittersweet string of polyester prattle sorrows
1 2 3 4 5
afar wraith paths of escape
Timelessly stretching through thicket aroused breaths aloof stones
soft spoken soughing of a enigma fauna painted into woodland bones
Myrth crystal waves lost on the ledge of sequel crayons of tattle tomorrows
6 7 8 9 10
I enter the way
Stargazing Ichiko's hymns on the coddling abyssal of my reverie train
enter the arcane painted depths of my esoteric paint though celestial rains
Wine bonnets drunken on overdosed fabricated ebullient sunshine rays
11 12 13 14 15
I exit tolling doom
If a moon veiled aethereal heart would dare to venture runic gossamers
Exit hurricanes of eldritch swirls on a nostalgic chimerical polished casimire
Heathen tartaned nova deer in bountiful fruit baskets of wolves astray
16 17 18 19
entering celestial crypts
Tired realities howl through a seraphic talismanic engaging bracken shield
I see now what lies across verdant sunlight flickering Swiss Lyn orchard fields
Peach kisses upon a soft freckled hand through sibilant hushed vineyards
20 21 22 23 24 25
I remain
The dead woman’s cat in the furrows of the garden
does not let herself be picked up
although hungry and thin after five days
with the dead woman and a night in the rain.
It has gone to join the other feral cats
among the junk behind the house.
On my way to work I try to entice it
with false friendship, guilt that the dead woman is dead.
On my way home I buy a can of cat food
but can’t find the cat. I let her go
to her fate. Later that night I try again
but there’s a tom waiting in her place.
Maybe I could have saved her if I’d known
her husband overdosed last week. Just maybe,
no more.
I ask the neighbors what happened to the kid.
The kid lives with her grandparents, they just used her for welfare.
I used to say
Somebody dies every day, it’s normal.
Stay near the earth people
that’s the way to grow old.
Bedsprings crochet bones together.
His back is sutured to gripes
stitched to gummy joints.
In the toilet, avoiding the mirror,
humming softly,
shunning conversation with himself -
the ceiling drips a sump of memories.
The park --- Frances revolves confused.
"I don't understand."
A phrase with self-winding words.
A slight miscalculation,
a turning away at the precise moment
she turned towards him;
an error of timing really.
Frances whirs on "I don't understand."
Later he understood she overdosed.
He imagines this lethal power
over her life to be his.
Time whittles cavities with calcifications.
Softly the spine of a storybook breaks -
where one stitch patches a sorrow
a spur prods and rips.
When he listens to the hollows
between the long vertebrae of his life,
he hears a theory crumbling away
under slowly grinding cogs.