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Addict Brain Poetry by Sawyer

  • Bucket of Shame

    April 10th, 2022
    My bucket of shame is black.
    It's made of clay.
    Filled with tar,
    mistakes my lungs can't seem wheeze anymore.
    I cough them out
    into this filthy little bucket.
    I'm trapped in a dirty bathroom
    of an upside down studio apartment.
    I clutch the bucket tightly.
    I remember your name,
    and feel like I've swallowed glass.
    I cough violently,
    and spit.

    Sawyer S.

  • Poem: Long Lost Lullaby

    April 8th, 2022
    Chocolate opal eyes set ablaze
    a fire that would smolder
    all in its fury.
    As my blood turned blue,
    an immortal angel sang
    a long-lost lullaby to comfort
    the souls of sunken men.
    
    Scarlet stained truth
    from petty white lies,
    how have I become
    everything I once denied?
    

    Sawyer S.

  • Short Story: What A Day To Be Alive

    April 5th, 2022
    I woke up today and screamed at the wooden ceiling.
    My brows furrow at first,
    and then I burst into laughter at myself.
    What a day to be alive.
    I wear a short-sleeve outside, 
    allowing the wind to sink its teeth into my bare arms
    because
    I never expected to be alive this long.
    I stroll down the street and actually
    smile
    at every passerby.
    Maybe I'll be alive today.
    As I sit on an empty park bench,
    I pull out my pack of Marlboro Blacks.
    I chain smoke five cigarettes just to
    feel
    the bite of nicotine in the back of my throat.
    
    A man strolls in front of me with a young girl on his back.
    They both avert my gaze,
    the stigma of cigarette smokers.
    She drops her tiny little shoe on the grass.
    I pick it up and yell, "You dropped your tiny little shoe!"
    To which, they ignore me.
    I persist to follow them and poke the man on his shoulder.
    He looks frightened at first.
    The man thanks me and smiles.
    What a day, what a day to be alive!

    Sawyer S.

  • Haiku: Graveyard Valentine

    April 5th, 2022
    keep me warm at night,
    ghosts of forgotten lovers.
    graveyard valentine.
  • Quit Me

    April 5th, 2022
    Don't think like that.
    I'll be gone by the morning.
    Smell my favorite sweater,
    forget what you always try to remember.
    "you're beautiful" are my clever words
    because the camera turns
    and you're inevitably hurt.
    You play with fire
    and expect to get burned.
    You always said I was thinking of her.
    Don't think like that.
    You said I was your addiction.
    Ghosts of valentines past whisper
    this same affliction.
    Quit me.
    Say it with conviction.
    
    In three months,
    I'll ask you how you're doing
    and you'll tell me that you're fine.
    Such a pretty, busy mind.
    We're all doing fine.
    Such a pretty, busy mind.
    My gentle mermaid.

    Sawyer S.

  • Haiku: Shackles of Memory

    March 28th, 2022
    These memories are
    steel shackles around my feet.
    I am bound to you.
    

    Sawyer S.

  • Let’s Play Pretend

    March 26th, 2022
    Hush. Let's play pretend.
    Dig your claws into my neck.
    Mark me, so I can remember what I should forget.
    Bathe me in your scent.
    Remind me, which part of you I should regret.
    Hush. Let's play pretend.
    Say it again.
    "Stay."

    Sawyer S.

  • love isn’t supposed to feel like this

    March 21st, 2022
    seventeen text messages. 
    left on read.
    you still haven't texted me back.

    i nestle my pseudo lover.
    i wrap my hands around her neck.
    a bottle of Honey Jack.
    something, anything to shade
    this gray into black.
    i've always been chasing
    that which you lack.

    i wonder who you're with,
    and where you are.
    these privileged thoughts
    are for the naive.
    i chew five xanax
    for my nightly reprieve.

    i hear five knocks at my door.
    "sawyer, it's me!"

    the onset of vertigo.
    my feet betray reason
    as i walk to the front door.

    both hands press
    against the wooden door.
    "you can't keep doing this to me"
    my words slur in my pathetic state.
    "let me in already, i want you right now"
    and just as a puppet dances with string,
    i unlock my door and invite you inside.

    you're wearing a black,
    faded denim miniskirt.
    torn fishnets.
    you reek of liquor
    and cheap cigarettes.

    "have you been using again, sawyer?"
    "you already know the answer. why are you here?"
    "you're my boyfriend, duh!"
    "love isn't supposed to feel like this."
    "what is love supposed to feel like then?"
    "i feel like i'm dying"
    "baby, why don't we die together then?"

    remember when we would get high,
    just to have fun?

    Sawyer S.

  • Fragmented Ego

    March 10th, 2022
    Why,
    am I so cold?
    
    I visit a headstone
    of a man I used to know,
    a faint realization
    of fragmented ego.
    
    I am
    so cold.
    
    I drop a bouquet
    of cheap roses
    onto filthy soil.
    
    Collapse.
    My fists pound the petals 
    to make them bleed.
    
    Violence and pain
    comfort the parts
    of myself isolated to shame.
    
    Why,
    am I so cold?

    Sawyer S.

  • Short Story: Stand In Defiance

    March 3rd, 2022
    My naked body suspended in a glass chamber.
    The water is rising. Blue knuckles beat on prison walls. Futility. I see a strange man point his finger. A smile so crooked and ugly. I hunger for violence. For I could shatter his porcelain veneers. Mercy is an allowance for the weak. His face would be an empty page on which I would write three stanzas of vengeance and penance with the tip of my Damascus steel blade. Fantasy is sobered by the icy bite of water swallowing my abdomen. I don't have much time left. The more I struggle, the larger his eyes become. Bastard. If I close my eyes maybe I'll wake up somewhere else. Somewhere far, far away. I stand in defiance. I will no longer give him the satisfaction of my anger. As the water dances along my nipples, I can see my mother faint in the periphery. She is wearing her favorite floral sundress. Black stilettos and the necklace I gave her for her birthday last year. Her skin shimmers in the darkness of my caged eyelids. A single tear runs down her cheek. She mouths the word "goodbye". Water floods into my lungs. They burn like I swallowed cyanide. I am relieved that my eyes are already wet. I hear her voice again, echoing that same word. "goodbye". I love you too, mother.
    

    Sawyer S.

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