Helpless

A poem about addictions and how they are able to affect certain aspects of each others lives.

The tips of my thumbs and pointer fingers are coated with a sticky sap substance.
It never seems to wash away or scratch off, like a fly in a web who has just been caught.
Unable to leave because the web is stronger than oneself. The more it tries, the more it gets tangled.

Helpless and hurting, I struggle to find other things that also hold a cherry.
I struggle to find the glow of excitement and happiness in other things as well.
Because when the embers of a dead plant blow away, there is nothing to remember it by.
There is not a grave nor a head stone. There is not a coffin nor a funeral...
And it feels as if the dying soul of the plant is trapped inside me forever.
As if banging on the metal bars of a prison door, the smoke haunts me.

Green plants and red orbs surround me in my dreams.
I also dream of beautiful girls and perfect mates only my heart can see.
Within reality, I'm not able to love. It can never set me free again.
I have lost hope and have gained nothing but a stronger desire for leafy remains.
I have lost respect and I have lost many friendships.
I have lost the joy of giving and receiving, for I have nothing to give and refuse to take.
Tomorrow is another day where I will inhale carcinogens for decency.

Continuing to hide it from family and friends only multiplies the sickness.
The thought contains nausea every time they are thought of.
I cannot control the constant coming of empty plastic bags and dry rotted stems.
I refuse to tell myself everything is going to be alright just because it won't be.
There is no way for me to see what lies ahead, but everything leads towards the same thing
And too much of the same thing can kill a person, even if it is as harmless as a small green bud.

Author's Note

This is one of my first non-rhyming poems. Any comments or criticism is more than welcome!

Reviews

[Liza]

addiction can come in many forms
you've expressed this very well
the back and forth
the living the lies
i guess i can say it now
i was like you
going home completely wasted out of my mind
and the best or the worst part was that my mom didn't even notice
i think being a kid is hard and its easy to fall into this
creative outlets like writing defintely nurture a mind out of it
great job