a journey into an oxycodone binge.
40 to get the buzz,
lighting a smoke
as I prepare
50 to feel fuzzy,
70 'cause the voices whisper
"Just a few more..."
80 because it's still
not enough.
90, to pretend
to be cautious, by
cutting the little guy
in half.
a cigarette, to ascend
to new places,
and pretend again
that this is end
of the binge.
... 20 more to re-dose,
oh yeah, and that little half too.
120 to feel nothing at all.
130 to lay motionless
upon a memory;
the ceiling
is a blur
but I see clearly
what I long for...
the weakness in me
weeps for itself
and I spit on it
in disgust.
150 because it's a fine,
even number, because
I want to scratch all over
in self-punishment
and tempt the universe
as I so love to do.
another smoke because
fuck it, I don't care anymore.
160 to fend off the illness
but it comes anyway,
vomiting up
the temporary euphoria
and the lovely numbness
that go hand-in-hand
spinning down a toilet bowl.
... get up and
put them away.
the day has
ended, and here
I am, alive, tired,
crawling beneath
the blanket
to await another day
where I'll be ready
to count milligrams again,
from start to end
just to survive
one morning
two mornings,
maybe even three,
but I know deep down
the cycle will go on and on
and the end
will come
when its ready to
Poetry by Lizz K.
Read 675 times
Written on 2014-03-31 at 16:27
Tags Addiction
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Counting Milligrams
20 to make you numb40 to get the buzz,
lighting a smoke
as I prepare
50 to feel fuzzy,
70 'cause the voices whisper
"Just a few more..."
80 because it's still
not enough.
90, to pretend
to be cautious, by
cutting the little guy
in half.
a cigarette, to ascend
to new places,
and pretend again
that this is end
of the binge.
... 20 more to re-dose,
oh yeah, and that little half too.
120 to feel nothing at all.
130 to lay motionless
upon a memory;
the ceiling
is a blur
but I see clearly
what I long for...
the weakness in me
weeps for itself
and I spit on it
in disgust.
150 because it's a fine,
even number, because
I want to scratch all over
in self-punishment
and tempt the universe
as I so love to do.
another smoke because
fuck it, I don't care anymore.
160 to fend off the illness
but it comes anyway,
vomiting up
the temporary euphoria
and the lovely numbness
that go hand-in-hand
spinning down a toilet bowl.
... get up and
put them away.
the day has
ended, and here
I am, alive, tired,
crawling beneath
the blanket
to await another day
where I'll be ready
to count milligrams again,
from start to end
just to survive
one morning
two mornings,
maybe even three,
but I know deep down
the cycle will go on and on
and the end
will come
when its ready to
Poetry by Lizz K.
Read 675 times
Written on 2014-03-31 at 16:27
Tags Addiction
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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Nabeela Altaf |
