The long-hand written poem
My mind rewinds to a time when I could think straight.
Childhood memories swirling like silent black and white films in my head.
Pharmaceutical drugs pulse through my veins.
My heart races to catch up with my brain as it rambles on and on.
Hands shake so violently,
fingers drag relentlessly through my hair.
I tug until strands of blond give.
Scratch at my skin because I cannot sit still.
I close my eyes but voices mock me.
I have to do something.
I breathe in deep.
Exhale and repeat.
I slap my face, then laugh uncontrollably.
I hope to break through
Separate myself from my racing thoughts.
In my mind I am doing ninety,
Warp speed in a 67' Camero, on Montauk Highway.
I think this must be what over dosing feels like.
My eyes roll, into the back of my skull.
I can't see anything clearly.
Transparent film clouds my eyelids,
the images of my art book move before me
I promise I'll never take four different pills at once again.
Knowing tomorrow that I will.
Empty words are what they are.
I do my best to persuade God to get me through all of this.


  1. Brutally honest, and deep.
    I have had similar experience(s).

    Since starting my little poetry "blog" about 2 1/2 weeks ago I have been working towards some understanding....
    I think that as long as we write real events and experiences in a language that brings them to life again, as long as we reach at least one person with our words, then our "job" is done. And as long as we write from that place of honest experience then there are other humans in the world that will relate.
    I say "We" in the sense of a greater collective "We" that have this burden-gift (of writing & expressing ourselves because we cannot help it) placed upon us and within us.
    Writing is easier than not writing.

    1. "Writing is easier than not writing." Brilliant!!! I will be quoting that a lot, I think I just might put it somewhere on my blog- if that's okay with you. Those words explain everything. It really is true, not writing is so hard, I have tried to ignore it when the words come because some of the times I find that I am crying while writing them and I am one of those people who absolutely hates to cry.

  2. I have tagged you! Here's the link:

    1. Aw thanks!! I adore being tagged it makes my day all giddy. Going to check it out in a bit.

    2. I was wondering though which blog you wanted me to put the answers, I wasn't sure because the questions have more to do with my book review blog than with poetry...

  3. We share many experiences. I would like to reblog some of your entries. Message me on your thoughts. Come check me out at

    1. Will do! I am so glad you found my blog and am honored that you like it enough to reblog some of them.

  4. Beautiful writing Anna. Keep at it. And everyone will benefit - reader and writer.
    All the very best.

    1. May I ask you something?
      Do you think I use too much emotion, lets say I was to dull it don't, not be so blunt...would anyone like my poems then?
      Or is what makes them good and 'beautiful' the use of bold emotion and blunt language the doesn't hold all too much lyricism?

    2. Oh and thank you for saying my writing is beautiful I really needed some confidence.

  5. Wonderful work once again Anna. Very honest and vivid. I love coming by and reading your work.

    1. Aw thank you, really I am glad I can hold your attention.

  6. Hey Anna, read through quite a few of your poems here, but this is the one I came back to (although I really liked the one that ends jumping off the pier as well). D.M.W. said something about shared experiences, and I think that's what this is... that recognition of having gone too far and wanting to come back even though we know we will go too far again (not necessarily just restricted to pharmaceuticals).

    I'll be heading over to your review page next. But nice to meet you.

    Paul D. Dail A horror writer's not necessarily horrific blog

    1. Thank you for your feedback. This poem was written in scribble cursive, when I could hardly see the words I was writing. It was one of those, 'in-the-moment' sort of deals where the words come and I can't help but write. These words are the exact expression of what i was feeling in the very moment I was writing the lines, crazed and desperate for saving, reluctant to fully give up the sensation and bitter because even though I knew I would try to re-create the experience it would never be exactly the same as, as it was the very first time.
      That's one thing I have never learned, though the lesson has been thrust in front of me, has slapped me across my face, and rammed into like a like backer, I have never been able to quit after just once, or twice. My great-uncles were said to be addictive by nature - meaning in the sense that they became irrevocably addicted to anything and everything that could be subjected to the action of repetitive behavior. I received that trait.
      And you are right to pick up that it was not just pharmaceuticals, but other more dangerous addictive objects.


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