Empty Bags; No Refills Bottles

Empty Bags; No Refills Bottles

A Poem by gardens and graveyards

3:34 in the
morning
and I can
already begin
to feel
the come down.

S**t,
s**t,
s**t.

I ran out.

I ran out of all of
it,
and I’ll probably be up all night
like this,
cause I’m not tired
and I can’t go through this
alone
any other way.

F**k.

Just a little more
and I’d be able to sit back
and forget about
the dresses and the jewelry
you left in my closet
and your car I
wrecked
and the health insurance I lost
and the stink in my piss
and my aching throat
and the blood
I spew from it
every morning
and the pain in my ribs
form the accident
that gets worse
every day
and at least convince myself
it’ll go away if I wait it out
because it
just
can’t
get
worse.

Maybe there’s some powder
left behind
in one the bottles I can lick
off the plastic
and I’ll get my
goosebumps back,

and maybe for
half an hour more,

I can feel the blood in my veins
evaporate
and slowly
rise from out of my
pores

while I nod off

under the blankets,
scratching myself,
moaning
until I wake up the next morning
and try to figure out
how I’m going to cope
once that sun goes down,
empty handed
and heavy
headed.

© 2013 gardens and graveyards


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Added on November 8, 2013
Last Updated on November 8, 2013
Tags: personal, poetry, poem, relationship, break up, heart ache, coping, drugs, vicodin, heroin, romance, romantic, depression, drug abuse

Author

gardens and graveyards
gardens and graveyards

Highland, IN



About
I write a lot of beat poetry usually about romance, heartache, relationships of all sorts, tragedy, and other experiences I’m familiar with. When it comes to longer stuff like short stories and .. more..

Writing