Addiction poems have been a favourite topic of poets. Too much passion, love, fascination, desperation often leads to addiction and time and again poets have dealt with this topic with such brilliance it floats between being a virtue and a vice. Explore this wonderful collection of poems about different types of addictions and their impact, be it physical or emotional. Some poems are written from the perspective of the addict while others are written by those who are close to them. Each poem on addiction encompasses a phase of life in itself.
With precision we have destroyed Particles of ourselves impossible to recover With fate and lives we toyed And our bodies, souls smothered Families, relationships distraught Was something experience should have taught Yet with logic we always belie That on our
I know,I just know… ..If I abuse I will be gone gone gone gone. More than a junkie, you can’t see it. I crave worse than narcotics. (I would trade this for being an alcoholic) Tragic? yeah it is tragic.
All alone sitting on the edge of my bed My hands covering my face A moment when I silently pray to be invisible Moment when I feel like crying… Not many, but yes there are few such moments Appearing in
What human values have we today, Than just seeking a helluva lot of Happiness for the notifications When the virtual defeats reality Am I too in same cage? To forget my Man and Sons and Daughters And care about gadgets
Love is a nicotine, hurts but, it’s mine. The angry pulse feels like a needle tussle, ain’t no relief, drunk in your memory old monk. Blood rushing in cold, as the moment unfolds, Mind, all numb, noise of the silent
‘Twas the month before Christmas, I was feeling quite pleased 16 days since I smoked, 16 days since I wheezed The ashtrays were stashed, my lighter long gone The cravings more tolerable, not nearly as strong I reminded myself. “don’t
Numb at noon and thoughts adrift He takes another sip The turmoil in his head, confused A twitch..and then a clumsy shift A snap of fingers, “Another please” His bloodshot eyes seem lost Fumbling for his change, he finds A
He knows the place Its depths, its visions, its dark illusions And the face in the mirror Opaque with age The wispy beard now snowy white Clouds snag on the mountain peaks Fingers of rain stroke the earth Tracing their
They came tired and torn, weary and worn They came male and female, straight and gay They came high and hooked, homeless and hungry They came addicted to alcohol, drugs, and crime They came for one last try, for freedom
I need Any need to stitch an acid, bare designed, in endoplasm, when moon was walking like a full-breasted bride? The synthetic feat was neat and clinical, yet I want to turn back and talk about something which heals the
Her favorite French word despite She hated the devices themselves Gutless spiders, she’d say, all legs Appetites for unwary heads, lop them off. As a compromise she didn’t own any hats Just a few holdover rain bonnets A pair of
Pharmacist’s pantry or landlord’s larder, choices aplenty for a mind so disposed. Maximum dosage to test the boundaries, roulette wheel silently spinning. Senses slither away like an exposed serpent, seeking the shapelessness of the shadows. The comforting numbness of certain
Cold fingers, glowing face Head down, thumbs up Red eyes, watery and strained Our heads ache from the new emperor’s reign. There’s buzzing pockets A reminder that it’s always there and the people on the other side demand our attention
Sweeping blood drops from her mouth, crying with anguished sobs Rosa ran to open the door, but Owen caught her by her wrist. Why are you doing this to me she stated? Owen hit her again with no reply. He
You don’t have to pretend, the feelings you keep. You don’t have to admit, what’s bothering you deep. You said you don’t care, but your eyes lie. You said you can’t tell, but your lips utter and sigh. You won’t
Once it touches it savors, A specialty or a perfect taste, A succulent prep it favors, Abhors that morsel gone waste. Inferno, when spruced with spice Addictive, when trickled sweet, Arctic, when met with ice, Articulate, when prudent and upbeat!
the coming day pushes the blue sky west o’er the far valley beyond the mountains crest I left her down in Corazon without forgiveness…in the night she was searching for the grace of God she was looking…for the light but
Dragging the floor, Like a mangled doll. Facing a decrepit wall, Rip it off like paper. The blackness of void, Like a pool of ice water. Out a silver hand outstretches, Rippling the wall. You’re pulled inside, soaked by the
It was that wicked drug, Not some contagious bug, That caused a goodbye without a hug. We certainly cried when you died, And our tears eventually just dried, Because your potential to shine was denied. Even though you are dead,
Thinking, contemplating my current situation. Scared. The lights of the city are turning down. From this view I can see everything. I’m watching her come down for the night. Helping me to not come down alone. Slowly, dying together. From