Meth poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of meth poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on meth are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Knock knock knock, I opened the door Some girl named Crystal was on my front porch. I asked what she wanted, she said “may I come in? I have a surprise for you,” then flaunted her little white bag. “You
War planes high, the sky full of rains, a man cries of death, though not because of drugs like meth, Egypt seeking retribution, for the cruelly cinematic execution, for 21 men have gone down under, amid the crying and the
You’re my personal brand of cocaine, surely you should suppress the suffering and numb the pain. My rose petal lips are engulfed in your kiss of death. I worship at your feet, when I have you, who really needs meth?
People appreciate your work when you die. Or they praise with grudging admiration. So my words make them envy, before I say goodbye, I might as well burn them alive. I cut box and add excit to ing, Inexplicable, take
“Under the spreading chestnut tree, I sold you and you sold me” – George Orwell There was a time when we were young, A time when we were young and free, When the sunshine and the gleaming dawn Brought us dreams
Were alcohol to be available only with prescriptions, imagine what would happen to the alone & the broken hearted? Each moment of loneliness and every second of pain, would have to be accounted for, and measured in units of spirits.
Facing the wrath of the blazing Sun, She, with her tangled hair, toothy smile, deeply lined face ; in a coarse cotton and battered bag, walks through the lofty gates of a mansion ; A fine blend of art, wealth
What that I am left with, impaled in jaws of mantis, starting a tug of war, for the otherness in me, seeking a bloodbath between my poise and incestuous blue hole of black walls. I gave you my voice, my
Atop a windswept highland hill above Locheil land Clansmen gathered roun and shook the prince’s haun They raised the standard high cheered till they were hoarse Followed the flying heron across the highland gorse. A,wa tae London toon wi hopes
This day you left this world that day I am experiencing hell without you ever since like a Torn kite flying aimless like thick dark clouds hovering creating darkness in noon like Waves over the sea rising to the skies
Every action of us stems from voice within Voice which don’t make sound but signals in lieu of sound Some actions appears hasty Some practical and Some may turn out to be awkward Life revolves round ones action Without action
Aboriginals inhabited their land They lived hand in hand No land property No hunger,’s no poverty Take what you need To sustain life with no greed Inhabitants of the continent Were simply slaughtered It was not an accident It was
Sixth sense, a magical phenomenon, a super natural phenomenon, a gift bestowed upon some people by the Supreme Lord. Each and everyone has got sixth sense; Only those who are spiritually connected to God, Experience the direct perception of truth.
Assess the world upside down—literally— Standing in the doorway— Then upside down—in the apartment on Prescott St— Through one’s legs—everything Makes about as much sense As anything ever does. * I am hoarse with the contrived implications, Weary with the
That one day you and me walking together accompanying Empty wet road, tree canopy Raining flowers, kissing wind Humming souls of vestal love reveals up, Fell in love with your magical talks and top notch character Even sun seems stygian
In the morning, nothing: every trace of him effaced, all the field pure white, its surface glittering, the dawn, glancing from its glaze, oblique, relentless, unadorned. It is the silver jubilee year Of a wedding knot tied On a September
Dawn rushed in a brand new day They woke up and went their way Morning spent in hard labor Too busy to let thoughts harbor An afternoon quite lazy and dull Routine setting in with a tempting lull Twilight brought
Disabled A person having a physical or mental condition that limits movements, senses, or activities A complex phenomenon, reflecting an interaction between features of a person’s body and features of the society in which he or she lives Developmental differences
Against a backdrop of broiling grey The dancing colours flap; wave away To all who can see and for all left to be A warning about the worsening sea A relentless outburst of desperate cries Fighting the force of the
When I depart the realm of the terrestrial for the splendour of the celestial, do not bury my remains in the valley of the Kings, for robbers would move my bones in search of gold rings. I detest sharing the
Turnover my secret past I have to dig up my future In the hour of crumbling walls and dark clouds. Pale moon becomes a beacon in another version of solitude where nobody speaks of sores and premature death. I stay
I believe the ‘wee of a day’ Is the early morning when The babes are still sleeping The cocks have not yet crowed Hounds are just coming from the hunt Owls have not yet started dreaming. I believe the ‘wee
There was a man stepping off the curb forward progress drawing him into line the city bus intent on cheating the amber light I saw oblivion coming, certain then in the next moment revolved around a crash stop, no squeal
I’ve ruined the knife set apparently, there were five and now there are four. ‘It’s not my knife set to diminish’, no ones mentioned the stain on the floor! Perhaps because I used bin bags, made an effort for which
Emerald irises up in Parallel rarely meet But now two pairs sprawl and bloom Neon hugs the sides While shades of green begin to colour the night Before long, you’re here Room one-one-seventeen Covered, stretched black divinity As calling, calm
I take your hand, So soft and clean. Future scars will warp like a band, Those pure eyes that haven’t seen. My hands, rough and red, From blood of past victims. My sinful limb strikes your head, Then I say:
If I forget spring, bruise my face with grass to meld with soil in prescience of later ritual. If I forget summer, drip on my tongue the blood of fresh berries, and the insolent taste of mint. If I forget
Dear Husband… We had just started our lives together Hopes to pick & dreams to gather Confused I saw my correctness suffer Irritated your freedom found a dictator; Changing ourselves for better & worse We were just learning to tighten