Drug use Poems
11:11
by Ceyx Kingfisher
Standing up and spitting down,
Stay praying for something to say.
All the decked out checked out hoodie hacks,
Hanging back way in the Slack.
Parsing Sharp and Forth,
Psycho goth tigers padded pacing,
Straitlaced tracing froth,
Grazing an ittle little bitty bit of meaning.
Congealing Venti steaming. Oxy healing.
Degaussed egos packed to the ceiling.
......
Different Times
by Russ Wilbury
Do you remember just a day ago
Walking along through the fresh-fallen snow
To the places only you would know
Live and let live and live and let die
Don’t ever stop and think and wonder why
Keep your eyes forward and toward the sky
Troubled man with long dark hair
Flying higher in the smoky air
Mr. Mojo risin’ way up there
......
My mother...
by Ash StormMy mother is- no, was a good mother. She took care of me and my sisters, and raised us to be good people. Well, sort of. I'm not sure when calling her Mama became calling her Mom and then Mother, but I know why it happened. It wasn't because I got older, no, it was because she started to feel less like my mother and more like a random person who I lived with. She hates when I call her "Mother" but "Mama" and "Mom" don't sound right anymore. When she fully turned to drugs I knew I didn't have a mom anymore. She may have been there physically at times, but she wasn't there for me mentally or emotionally. She went from a seemingly happy, care-free person to someone who sits in my garage all day smoking weed with her friends. Sometimes I wonder if it's my fault. Am I too much? Am I not enough? Is there something I could've done? Why? Why? Why does she vent to me about her life and how much it sucks? Why won't she get help? Does she not see what she's become? She passes out onto the floor. I stare, wondering if she's alive. What should I do? I call her name. Nothing. I shake her a little. Nothing. I'm scared. I tell my dad and he calls me. He's at work. "Hun?!" he yells. She doesn't move. "You need to get in bed!". She wakes up. She stands. She realizes what's happening and she gets mad at... me? She's yelling and cursing at me. I start crying. I don't understand. I was just trying to help. In the morning she remembers nothing that occurred the night prior. It gets worse. She spends $1300 in 3 days. My dad might divorce her. He only stayed this long because of me and my sisters. I'm sorry. We might get kicked out of our house. We might have to move back to Oklahoma. I don't want to. I'm finally happy here and so are my sisters. We actually have friends. I'm the oldest. I'm 16. And I'm worrying about my parents marriage, how much money we have, taking care of my mom, etc. I just want my mom back. I don't know who this person is. She's a stranger. She looks like my mom but she is not my mom. And she is not my mother.
Continue readingMy mother...
by Ash StormMy mother is- no, was a good mother. She took care of me and my sisters, and raised us to be good people. Well, sort of. I'm not sure when calling her Mama became calling her Mom and then Mother, but I know why it happened. It wasn't because I got older, no, it was because she started to feel less like my mother and more like a random person who I lived with. She hates when I call her "Mother" but "Mama" and "Mom" don't sound right anymore. When she fully turned to drugs I knew I didn't have a mom anymore. She may have been there physically at times, but she wasn't there for me mentally or emotionally. She went from a seemingly happy, care-free person to someone who sits in my garage all day smoking weed with her friends. Sometimes I wonder if it's my fault. Am I too much? Am I not enough? Is there something I could've done? Why? Why? Why does she vent to me about her life and how much it sucks? Why won't she get help? Does she not see what she's become? She passes out onto the floor. I stare, wondering if she's alive. What should I do? I call her name. Nothing. I shake her a little. Nothing. I'm scared. I tell my dad and he calls me. He's at work. "Hun?!" he yells. She doesn't move. "You need to get in bed!". She wakes up. She stands. She realizes what's happening and she gets mad at... me? She's yelling and cursing at me. I start crying. I don't understand. I was just trying to help. In the morning she remembers nothing that occurred the night prior. It gets worse. She spends $1300 in 3 days. My dad might divorce her. He only stayed this long because of me and my sisters. I'm sorry. We might get kicked out of our house. We might have to move back to Oklahoma. I don't want to. I'm finally happy here and so are my sisters. We actually have friends. I'm the oldest. I'm 16. And I'm worrying about my parents marriage, how much money we have, taking care of my mom, etc. I just want my mom back. I don't know who this person is. She's a stranger. She looks like my mom but she is not my mom. And she is not my mother.
Continue readingDifferent Times
by Russ Wilbury
Do you remember just a day ago
Walking along through the fresh-fallen snow
To the places only you would know
Live and let live and live and let die
Don’t ever stop and think and wonder why
Keep your eyes forward and toward the sky
Troubled man with long dark hair
Flying higher in the smoky air
Mr. Mojo risin’ way up there
......
11:11
by Ceyx Kingfisher
Standing up and spitting down,
Stay praying for something to say.
All the decked out checked out hoodie hacks,
Hanging back way in the Slack.
Parsing Sharp and Forth,
Psycho goth tigers padded pacing,
Straitlaced tracing froth,
Grazing an ittle little bitty bit of meaning.
Congealing Venti steaming. Oxy healing.
Degaussed egos packed to the ceiling.
......
