Tag Archives: overdose

Next Time, It’s Not Just Going To Be A Graze Wound

If you could just step back and try to listen
You would have this all figured out
But your temptations start taking over
Bite and chew the hand that feeds you and I
I am the wretched wolf, feed my disguise
Learning while they cry lines of regret and despair…

~*~

And they’ll call you when you’re still sober, with twisted mouths bleeding smoke

From sucking on the saccharine pressure of trying to get high on smuggled hope

Is it still enough to endure? To find the side of you that’s not desperately aphotic?

Try to play it nice with the drunken sycophants and end up feeling nearly psychotic

.

Find another damn to waste and throw away the restricting boundaries within

It doesn’t count if it’s just a misdirected shot that all the cowards dragged you in

Changing your identity at the bottom of a broken bottle to save yourself some hours

It doesn’t feel so good to lie when your bloody stomach’s spitting out decaying sour

.

But it’s still fine…isn’t it? It’s what everyone does to get by and get away nowadays

Just to be dragged out by their brittle hairs into a world that’s devoid of paper-thin pain

Writing stories fit for prideful cuckolds while your inkstained hands are shaking with guilt

With your lover burning on the stake for the sins you’ve done, all’s fair in love and war and filth

.

And they’ll call you when you’re a total failure, with twisted smirks saying “I told you so”

Pretending to be your closest best friend but only arriving just in time for the final show

Have you found your perfect cure yet? The healthy overdose that’s bound to knock you out?

Try to be half the man you could never be, you know you’re gonna fucking get it now.

~*~

Yet there is no sincerity in the voice projected towards me
Taking the turn of a life and proceed to recycle
The smut into a powerful statue to show
Which way is home and which way leads to my mouth
Drowning all our fears in a euphoric stream of acid…

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Baby Overdose;

One too many opened blister packets.

Chalky blue tablets swallowed down; bitter, choking, dry,

Words bleed out of my brain and morph into seven-headed visions, and

My heavy tongue feels like grating metal and frigid sandpaper as

I carefully utter the slurred words that would reach no one—

I hope you’re fucking better now.

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24 – no doubt

through metal and fire

sinews of flesh interred

lost restraint and desire

pleading tongues left sold

.

“it hurts to keep it all in”

hurts even more to speak

i must look rather grim

but soon overdose will kick

.

against the side of my brain

and knock me out for good

concealing all cravenly stains

before i finish what i should

.

through liars and lighters

i flayed to search for some rest

so lay me down to agony

and hope the worst’s for the best.

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Disembodied Silhouettes

My shadow no longer walks with me—

Not because there is no light to cast upon it,

But because it’s ashamed to take the very same path

My disgraced footsteps have left an imprint on

But could I blame my shadow for running away?

All it wants is a drop of tasteless medication

And I’m a lacklustre smile away from an overdose

Sitting here, under the ghostly orange of the streetlight

Watching the outline on the asphalt recede from me,

I count how many seconds it takes for me to get home

And pray under my breath that my shadow doesn’t follow.

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Domestic Park

Desk drawers

Fractured tibia

Stopwatch red

Dream febricula

Medicated blues

Hangover sober

Ready-set overdose

Insides uncovered

Busted-up mouth

Bloodied ceiling

Cracked linoleum

Window unhinging

Screaming children

Playground purple

Tempest tantrums

Drainage overfull

Halted arguments

Gossipy neigbours

“Do-not-cross” tape

Handcuffed endeavour

Guilt-ridden laughter

Covered up with tears

Madness manifesting

“I didn’t do it, dear.”

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[c]lose

your heart is open

or so you proclaimed

you swallow tears whole

and say it’s fair game

.

your mind is open

but every part’s closed

and you blame the unspoken

with your dull overdose.

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The Taste Of Bad Medicine

Drag my hand behind you
Like a chain behind a truck
Sparks over your carpet while
I chase you through the darkness
Somebody’s supposed to fall in love
But nobody even calls; somebody’s supposed to…

~*~

If I held the gun that made your insides feel worse

Tell me, is it still a blessing or have I become your curse?

Your marionette body makes me fall apart again

After I’ve taken my prescriptions and adjusted my skin

.

I’m too selfish to taste all these abrasive chemicals

Forming newer lies at the tip of my pale purple tongue

So won’t you take them away and shatter up these brick walls

That’s keeping my sanity in, just another emergency man

.

In the bedroom floor where our breaths feel like the new testament

My tell-tale heart is still writhing and clawing desperately at the cement

You buried me in black and white, but all I could see is an endless blue

Starving for some modesty like it’s some unheard modern-day virtue

.

So break me away, I’m responsible for this reckless self-medication

Just to sleep and dream a little longer, just to find something to hold on

Because all I hear is anguished screaming from the other side of that door

And I could only listen so much to this overdose before I could take no more

.

If I held all the pills that made your insides feel worse

Tell me, am I your blessing or do I have to call up a hearse?

Your puppeted agony makes me fall apart, and then

I’ll take two and pass out just so I could call you in the morning.

~*~

Tear this place apart
Until you find me hiding, silently I wait
You’ll be excited just to see me someday
Everything’s okay…

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Needle and Thread

You watch me bleed until I can’t breathe
I’m shaking, falling onto my knees
And now that I’m without your kisses
I’ll be needing stitches…

~*~

It’s all I can do to move past the stark vitriol and hurt

When you dragged me backwards teeth-first, down into the dirt

Like it even mattered which side you and I were even on

Because in the end, I always lost—and you always won

My mouth was full of roses when you started to bleed

Inject the venom straight in my veins, isn’t that what you need?

The morphine leaves my eyes dry and my heart feeling numb

But the side effects were fatal, my breaths tried not to succumb

To the excruciating pain everywhere that refused to wear off

When I kicked back on withdrawals, I screamed my throat rough

I begged it all away for the sake of a higher intake glucose

But the saline dripping turned to rivers of a medicated overdose

Are you satisfied now, medical man, after all that you’ve done?

Should’ve smothered my face with a pillow instead, it’s easier to flatline

But you fooled me into liking torture, even got the signature for my consent

So I can’t blame your hospitality for drowning me under hard cement

Now it’s all I can do to bandage my wounds and lick on the healing pain

Sew my unraveling stitches until empty black holes are all that ever remain

And it never mattered which side was playing the victor and the victim

Because in the end, you will never lose—and I will never win.

~*~

I’m tripping over myself
Aching, begging you to come help
And now that I’m without your kisses
I’ll be needing stitches…

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just a little more for overdose

My mind is wide asleep, my conscience deep awake 
The promises I keep are not the ones I make 
I count the caustic causes, I lost count of regrets 
A surplus of good intentions, don’t provide me with content 
All I want is just a little content…

~*~

my mother

has a secret stash of valium

and i want to find it

and drink it all

to keep myself from

impulsively banging my

migraine-shot head

into the wall

and possibly haemorrhage

because she doesn’t believe me

that i am in pain

i’m in pain.

and it’s not just physical

but if it doesn’t show

in thermometers and bruises

that must mean

i’m faking it

to get out of class

because what sane person

wouldn’t want to feign

being suicidal for such petty reasons?

i’m breathing heavily,

ragged cries echoing hollowly

on the bathroom tiles, and

my feet are shivering

from stepping on the wet floor

for too long, but i can’t run away.

i try to make up my mind,

waiting for the spots of blood

to catch in my ivory soap

but instead the tears beat them to it.

it hurts it hurts IT HURTS

i want to scream

but my younger sister is still eating her

breakfast obliviously outside,

most likely wondering

why the hell

i have been silent

for more than 30 minutes now

i hope she thinks i’m dead.

i hope i wish i’m dead.

i’m waiting for her to leave already

so i could tiptoe out

of the bathroom

and get a new pair of metal smiles

goddamnit, she better hurry up.

meanwhile, my mother is ready to shove

the wall clock down my throat

and shriek at me that

i’m already running late

i know she wants me dead.

I know i want to be dead.

and of course, she blames me

for staying up to do

the only thing i can do

to try to just fucking stay alive

better to be dying inside

than to waste my cold future

and skip a day of class

(as if i have a future at that point)

i don’t have to be a liability

to her, to any of them, right now

and this sickness was

my own undoing,

i was clearly asking for it.

i’m guilty

of what i know

but not of what i did

to myself or them

but for what i did even though

i have what i need alone

…i’m fucking weak,

i know already.

and to think that i actually

cared for these bastards

once or even twice

in my life—how disgusting.

my mother

has a secret stash of valium

that she’s probably

knocking down

all at once to keep from

impulsively slamming

my migraine-shot head into

the pristine white walls

because she thinks that i’m a liar

and since i guess i am…i fucking believe her

just as much as she believes

that i am in pain.

i’m in pain.

~*~

I choose the beaten path, I’ve been to where it leads 
Why I keep coming back, a mystery to me 
I found what I’ve been seeking, it’s too late for me to care 
My aspiration’s leaking from a hole I can’t repair 
Maybe I just don’t want it repaired.

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Chase Atlantic

For you, I chased down atlantic until it was drained and empty, consuming every last drop, and still, you were thirsty.

Xans, Oxy, gram, adderall, molly, vicodin, ketamine, codeine, amphetamine, heroin, every medication legal and illegal you selfishly overdosed on like it’s the sweetest candy, drugs and money fucking everything up, riding the waves, breathing in the ozone layer and craving the vaporous atmosphere, until all you could hear are birds singing at midnight and all your blank glazed eyes could see where pink shadows coalescing in the basement and the sound of your own synesthetic undersea voice, sewn up into crude stitches before it shatters soundlessly against the restless pastel ghosts; and you find out you were uncomfortably lying on your back in the bedroom floor all along, staring at the unlit ceiling dripping what you thought were your own tears but turned out to be rainwater, dial tone screeching your garbled songs, trying to call nobody at half past four in the morning, worn-down carpet igniting the smoke alarms with your interminable vices. I could only wish to hell that I was there to put it out.

There was a certain elegant delicacy in your tactlessly constructed words, soft beatnik aspersion and aggressive indie slurs romancing and entrancing my chilled spine, humming saxophone amid the alluring amalgamation of incoherent voices intertwining together into a strange, tangible, panicking tranquil. It was an art form in itself, inimitable, one of a kind, scattered accentuation your personal intricate signature. Every careless lilt about the dangerous pseudonymous girls you slept with last night, Angie, Cassie, Roxy, and the pill-popping pharmacists you’ll hold up with a gun as soon as the sun hits tomorrow. All these unsettling courtesies set in three parts of pastel grey and explicit roses, the dalliance and the nostalgia of everything, you were speaking in a foreign language only the truly sick in the head could properly understand, and the way you talked about all the mental pressure and self-esteem and choking anxiety so goddamn beguilingly, the way you talked about addiction as if you weren’t an addiction in itself, the way you just fucking aren’t, it got me overdosing on the panoply panache and sovereign shit on your bedside, but I was so into it.

How many times have you made my pulse beat when it was no longer mine? Every single afternoon, I wake up with a stabbing jolt like a guillotine’s rope pulled tight against my throat, gasping and desiring desperately for more, more of your prevarications. It was a talk show tactic, and you were the host telling me to talk slow and tell no lies, and I was your prize trophy, spilling my secrets and picking my battles cautiously, even though I knew that you were probably lying to me all along. The world was on your shoulders, angels hissing temptations under your skin, and we danced to the beat of your laughter and talked endless miles of film spiels about friends and no friends, gravity and good vibes, church walls and dancing in the dark with the devil, indiscretions and junkie stories high on adrenaline and dopamine, driving too fast and run over by the cops and swimming and thrashing in paradise until we’re so much higher than before, and everything was rhapsodic…until you hit the trigger and got me begging on my bleeding knees again. I’m scratching my nails, shivering madly, abusing my liver, and tearing the veins off my dead-ass heart as you killed my sanity, and baby I was only 23.

I’m obsessive. You said hold your breath, you’ll save me from the fading injections and we’ll run away right here to the underside of the world, and I won’t need to miss you and your anchor tattoo. And fuck it, but I believed all your twisted promises so fervently. I didn’t expect to fall instantaneous victim for such a scrupulous stratagem, this alternative relativity of drugs and parties not my accustomed niche, fucking up this whole thing. I was married to the screaming voices that serenade me everyday and haunt me every night, and I was theirs to render completely deaf into freedom; until you came out of nowhere and divorced me from the nightmares, and you incarcerated me—you made me even worse. You’re a psychopathic fringe wearing a smile on your face and holding a knife in your hand, you’re becoming a work of art. You don’t look too sane when you act like that, and babe, you won’t live too long with a mind like that. I was always fastidious about the taste of serotonin that I place against my lips, but even though it’s fire I’m kissing now, I’ve already been burnt, I fucking have. And I love counting the cigarette stains in my fragile marred skin, sepia-shaded nicotine tattooed permanently between my fingertips, branding me with your whispered name. My parents say I’m crazy, but I only wanna be buried six feet under your bed, ready to meddle about and smoke the cancerous stars away with you anytime. They say be rational about these things, but I stopped being reasonable the moment I listened to your drugstore symphonies and drowned in your cheap perfume. This chemical destruction is beautiful. I’ll keep it up, and I’ll keep riding the waves, crashing into you once more. And why stop at all? Okay is all I know right now. Mama I’m sorry, but reality’s boring.

For you, I’ll chase down atlantic until I’m drained and empty, consuming every last drop, and still, I’ll be thirsty for your eyes.

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