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Confessions of a Potential Drug Addict

Poetry By: Kathleen Megquier
Poetry



The spiral, the come and go moods, till their bodies finally go themselves.


Submitted:Sep 3, 2011    Reads: 16    Comments: 4    Likes: 1   


I find myself lost.

Inhaling death, shooting up misfortune,

& swallowing all the faith & hope I can venture out to consume.

It digests slowly,

bringing the urge to vomit within my soul.

My body is not a place for purity, no house for grace.

I'm that walking disgrace, yearning to have the opportunity to reflect and shimmer in the sunlight,

nightlife has been my only companion.

The shadows want to embrace me, the darkness anticipating for the chance to erase me.

Why not let it?

I'm starving for motivation, reeling for some relevance in this so called endeavor to reach the ultimate high, the ultimate safety within myself.

I feel the nicotine cripple my lungs.

The weed musing my thoughts for an hour or two.

Prone to bad trips.

What else out there exists?

What else can I throw back into this decomposing hole that is my whole entire being?

It's rotting, speed up the process a little.

Who says I can't control death?

Life controls me.

Why not have the hold on something real?

Anything really.

Just to know it's mine.

Reality is like a cinderblock chained to my ankle.

Life will surrender me to the sea.

Sinking.

Soon to be disintergrating.

The water creatures I welcome to inhabit my body.

It's been so trashed and tarnished.

Far more worse creatures have entered these gapping holes.

Only to resurface and leave.

Leaving me with residue of what's little left to consume.

Everyone is simply amused at the joke that is me.

Yet, what they don't see,

I'm not laughing.

I'm not even scowling.

Because what they don't know is that I might finally go.





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