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Whoosh. Aahh.

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  • Whoosh. Aahh.

    Drip. Drip. Drip.

    Goes the fucking I.V.

    Nothing but saline you fake bastard

    Shut up!

    I scream aloud

    Alone on daffodil yellow sheets

    That I vow to burn if I make it through this shit

    The guards of sleep pull the roots of my teeth

    Every time I nod off

    A devil’s symphony

    Twanging and aching

    Breathing and screaming


    Pulled by long needles to the sky

    Twisting and twirling

    A pharmaceutical pudding of flu-like symptoms

    Peels away layers of skin

    The air is sandpaper and I moan ‘give me that shit!’

    I say it but don’t mean it

    I’m getting off this crap

    Just the smell of rubbing alcohol

    As the nurse preps the vial

    Gives me a new rush

    Whoosh. Aahh.

    Morphine to the vein

    The coveted juice makes it

    Calm comes and drools down my chin

    Doctors and nurses

    Ask way too many questions

    So I’m gone again

    You can’t catch me.

    Freedom from hell

    Freedom from me

    Mac ‘n cheese

    Scrambled eggs and pancakes

    Cornflakes with brown sugar

    A surreal shortage of Marlboro Midnights

    My genius moment to withdraw

    And quit smoking at the same time


    Chicken Noodle soup

    Ugh! Add water. Oh.

    Chai tea

    Fruit smoothie

    Fuck. We’re out of spinach. And bananas.

    A chocolate milkshake

    That’s it!

    (Didn’t they eat chocolate in 28 Days?

    Of course then she fucking O.D.’d in the bathroom)

    On the kitchen counter

    A paper grocery bag

    Cigarette butts methodically laid out

    Like a forensic scene

    Cigarette ashes everywhere

    Light one up with nicotine yellow fingers

    Not there.

    Pleasure that is.

    I know you’re there somewhere

    Feel good

    I’m going to find you.

    Last edited by Sister Greed; 03-03-2018, 05:04 AM.

  • #2
    Addiction to poetry seems much easier. Your poetry has only good side effects.


    • #3
      Funny. Thank you.


      • #4
        This is a dark foray into someone used to struggling, with all the jadedness of no reprieve through the days. Monotony, and appointments. I can feel these emotions, and I am sorry if it's 'autobiographical'.

        The "daffodil" sheets, the "pharmaceutical pudding" of symptoms, really carved out a place ... stark images, we get a sense of "this person's" feeling of worth; you have been struggling long, it's more difficult to be 'gentle'.

        The narrator is strong, and makes it through mountains to bring this beautiful, simple message to the reader: It's hope! I think the situation brings out the madness, and we find in those moments that sort of Relieving second, when we understand how things are. So close to life, we don't mince words, and we know we don't need to waste time.

        There's something about it. That honesty. It blends well into your poetry. Thanks, Sister Greed!


        • Sister Greed
          Sister Greed commented
          Editing a comment
          AmenOra, thank you for your thoughtful comments. I always appreciate the depth with which you respond to my poetry. Autobiographical yes.

      • #5
        Sister Greed - a catharsis through verse is a wish I send your way. Know that this helps with understanding how we make it through. There are many addictions - everyone needs help in some kind of battle. Sounds like you're facing new directions - looking for relief in new and healthier places. Write it out.

        Also, I appreciate you and the wisdom and experience and talent you share in the zone.


        • Sister Greed
          Sister Greed commented
          Editing a comment
          RLW, thank you for everything you said. Praise the smoothie!
          Last edited by Sister Greed; 03-04-2018, 07:05 PM.

      • #6
        this was a joy to read


        • Sister Greed
          Sister Greed commented
          Editing a comment
          Thank you, Parkinsonspoet.

      • #7
        A late read
        doesn't come amiss.
        Once again compressed
        pain impresses.
        Am I thankful they
        are not my vocabularies
        but in distress my empathies.
        Best wishes.


        • #8
          I always try to find that which most speaks to me within a verse. As I read this over and over it all screamed at me. I have settled on the first 3 lines.

          “Drip. Drip. Drip.

          Goes the fucking I.V.

          Nothing but saline you fake bastard”

          Give me what I NEED not what I need. If you are going to invade my body with needles then at least fill the bag or syringe with escape, not with some useless fluid that only serves to return me to reality.

          “Whoosh. Aahh.”

          Freedom from hell

          Freedom from me

          I don't want die. I just want to live here.

          Well, that's my take .


          • Sister Greed
            Sister Greed commented
            Editing a comment
            Love it, rhymetime. Your comments, I mean! Thank you.