These needles picked me apart at the seams,
I was distilled in depths of alcohol,
bleaching my rainbow skin sallow,
and leaving patchwork pieces on stained carpet.
My knocking knees were tied with strands of daisychains,
weak in walking,
and shaking in stuttered footsteps.
A ragbag of chemicals,
they wheeled into the clinic,
that smelt of wet paint and exposed thighs.
My spine felt curved in horseshoe patterns
and there were twisted anchors
hooked onto my ankles,
as they tried to make me walk the straight line to the Office of Errors.
Purple Chairs line the tiled pavement,
And the lampshades swing,
like elastic pedals,
creaking along the paper ceiling,
burning filaments to my sockets,
plugged into the first feelings of wtihdrawal.
I dreamt there was hidden acid in her wallpaper.
My cotton hands rub against it,
picking at the echoes of previous maydays.
The watermelons on the walls were warning signs,
for 'May induce Loss of Sanity.'
That is all I remember from meeting Miss.Twelve Steps.
It passed in a foreign eclipse of wet bedsheets,
vomit sticking to the back of my throat,
as automatic scientists attempted to sew me up,
with plastic thread,
knotted in ill-fitting patterns,
buttoned in with shrill voices,
and crackling microphones.
My wooden freckles greeted patients,
with downsized wrists,
and plague stapled to their skin,
clapped onto cheekbones underneath lifeless baggage,
chipping off into black white and red,
like a gothic holocaust,
sitting, picking at muffins in the canteen.
I used to be the same pill pilgrim,
caressing saints of cyanide with saliva,
and leaving trails on my wrists like a timeline,
of each bad trip.
Near the very cellar of my elbow,
was the time I dreamt I was choking on my own placenta.
Three months of my throat twisting with blood,
peeling noses,
raw skin,
couch talks,
clean water,
Hero stories,
I was free to go.
They'd handled my fragile fragments of bargain basement skin,
Hinged me together like,
A doll tapestry.
'I was fixed' they told me.
But my patchwork skin was all mismatched and uncoordinated,
And They had deconstructed me
like reverse eggshells
--to leave me cracking on the inside--
Author notes
Hi, this is about someones time in rehab.
I hope it is what you are looking for
Thanks
x
A contest entry
- x |Heroin| x by Dead Star--x.
300 points, ended April 16, 2007, 33 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 9 of 9
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I've read a few pieces about rehab ... this feels unique to me. The theme of what the skin goes through from heroin is used great.
"A ragbag of chemicals... - ...My spine felt curved in horseshoe patterns"
--amazing lines with brilliant wording.
"Three months of my throat twisting with blood,
peeling noses,
raw skin,"
--I also liked this, it seemed in your face, raw, and diarylike. Enjoyable read.
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I really really really really like this! You haven't any idea how much this inspires me. It's so pretty, and it's so...amazing!! i love the imagery, and just everything about it. Great flow!
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This is a realllly weird poem
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...
A ragbag of chemicals,
they wheeled into the clinic,
that smelt of wet paint and exposed thighs.
My spine felt curved in horseshoe patterns
and there were twisted anchors
hooked onto my ankles,
as they tried to make me walk the straight line to the Office of Errors.
All of it is sooo amazing and intense. Great write!
A MURDEROUS LAMENT <\33 -
I actually thought it was about a patient who died and was undergoing taxonomy. Body preservation. It was rather disturbing to read but rightfully so I think. A shock that left a meaningful impression.
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This is very emotional...and the pictures that formed within my mind while reading this were wonderful and sad...I could picture this poor soul being tug to one side then to the other...with pain within...trying, yet seeming it was not enough...this is a great write...very well thought out..thanks for sharing
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yikes! never having been a heroin user but knowing many who have died from the affects/effects i could see one too many persons i have loved in this write. you did well. thank you for sharing your talent with me and i wish you the best of luck. viyanna rosemarie
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t
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I think this is absolutely superb, an excellent write. Gritty and raw with fantastic imagery, i've no doubt you will do very well in the contest. Good luck, but i really don't think you need it. sj
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