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Literature Text
how can you save someone
with tattoos and track marks?
they called him Jesse
and I loved him, I loved him
too much for my own good.
he was a burnt-out angel
with weathered grandfather wings
and an aluminum halo.
"please," I begged, incessant,
"please, stop. you're better than this."
I wrestled with his addiction
as though it was my own,
destroyed syringes straight from
the crook of his elbows.
I always knew he had one true love,
and it sure wasn't me.
his arm was pale and thin
around my shoulders,
pale and thin in the masquerade lamplight,
where he pierced his veins
in belt-constricted solitude.
one night, as I paced
with his bent silver spoon
clutched in my palms,
he told me that he needed it,
oh God, he needed it.
he needed that one slow descent
into black oblivion, that one place
where nothing existed to hurt him.
for the first time,
I realized my place.
whenever he kissed me,
he thought not of my lips,
not of my tongue.
he thought of a cool chill,
needles pricking,
poison soothing and infesting blood.
somehow he'd fallen into
an abusive relationship
with himself.
after midnight calls and taxi rides,
I found myself far from him.
when next we met,
he lay still beneath gray-shadowed eyelids.
this snow-covered man
died a snow-covered death,
alone but for broken glass
and bits of cotton along the floor.
yet I still love him.
God damn it,
I love him.
with tattoos and track marks?
they called him Jesse
and I loved him, I loved him
too much for my own good.
he was a burnt-out angel
with weathered grandfather wings
and an aluminum halo.
"please," I begged, incessant,
"please, stop. you're better than this."
I wrestled with his addiction
as though it was my own,
destroyed syringes straight from
the crook of his elbows.
I always knew he had one true love,
and it sure wasn't me.
his arm was pale and thin
around my shoulders,
pale and thin in the masquerade lamplight,
where he pierced his veins
in belt-constricted solitude.
one night, as I paced
with his bent silver spoon
clutched in my palms,
he told me that he needed it,
oh God, he needed it.
he needed that one slow descent
into black oblivion, that one place
where nothing existed to hurt him.
for the first time,
I realized my place.
whenever he kissed me,
he thought not of my lips,
not of my tongue.
he thought of a cool chill,
needles pricking,
poison soothing and infesting blood.
somehow he'd fallen into
an abusive relationship
with himself.
after midnight calls and taxi rides,
I found myself far from him.
when next we met,
he lay still beneath gray-shadowed eyelids.
this snow-covered man
died a snow-covered death,
alone but for broken glass
and bits of cotton along the floor.
yet I still love him.
God damn it,
I love him.
Literature
Paper Planes
If only these paper planes
Could loan me their wings
If that could be sane
To think such things.
If only I could fly away
Leave this, and you behind
Now my heart is on display
Where no soul can find
Forever winter in my heart
Now love has ceased to exist
Having lost my counterpart
Unforgiving emotion, I persist
Who can give me salvation?
Who will save me from myself?
What causes my aggression?
Who would take it on herself?
If only these paper planes
Could loan me their wings
I'd fly like the cranes
Away from what stings
Literature
Writing
I am a writer
I write what
I wish I could say
Trapping my feelings
On paper everyday
I am a writer
I write what
I see around me
My eyes; wide open
Have set me free
I am a writer
I write what
I need to do
Clear and confused
Just give me a clue
I am a writer
I write what I feel
And I feel what I write
But when I stop feeling
I stop writing
And my little world
Starts reeling
I am a writer
Who writes to find reason
And maybe even some treason
In this world
Where insanity rules
Behind a piece of paper marked:
"Here are the fools"
Literature
In the dark
I am the creature
Who lurks in the dark
The one you never notice
But who's always there
Just observing the world
Without really understanding it
And waiting for the day
The day you notice me
And invite me into the light
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I'mma take a second to be proud of myself for the play on words in the title. get it? 'cause heroin and heroine sound the same? no?
So, here you have the first poem of 2014! I actually wrote it a few days ago, and only just edited it and decided to post it. I've recently become completely, entirely obsessed with Breaking Bad, so when I saw the episode where Jesse does heroin with Jane, I was inspired. I was yelling at my TV, "JESSE, NO, DON'T DO IT!" He's my favorite character. I also couldn't think of a name for the guy in the poem, so I just named him Jesse, un-creatively.
I hate how drugs ruin people.
Also, if anyone spoils Breaking Bad for me...I will end you.
That is all.
© 2014 littleblueraccoon
© 2014 - 2024 littleblueraccoon
Comments33
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I enjoyed reading this, well done