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HomeArticles Posted by Ghostwriter (Page 10)
Poetry

Old Me

Author: April Cornwell

Crystal rocks & different kinds of baggies
money stacked 5’s, 10’s, 20’s, & 50’s
phone goes off another person at my door
plenty of money doesnt matter I want more
police are running up surprise its a raid
I was careful but is always ends the same
county here I come and I don’t even care
hell I knew the risks & still bravely dared
opening my eyes realizing it was just a dream
no shaking or cold sweats for I’m still clean
I refused to live that life any longer
that’s the old me now I’m stronger.

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Old Me Author: April Cornwell Crystal rocks & different

Poetry

Lifestyle

Author: April Cornwell

Sometimes I still feel the pull
the want to be back in that lifestyle,
I have to fight it every single day
to give up will be a life in exile,
now i awake always wondering
just who in the hell was I?
exchanging rocks for dollar bills
knowing at any second I could die,
that door to destruction has closed
I’ve opened another even better door,
now I’m sober life is way different
i refuse to live that way anymore,
I know I can be a better person
that lifestyle isn’t worth a damn,
even though at times it was fun
I know now this is who I am.

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Lifestyle Author: April Cornwell Sometimes I still feel the

Poetry

And So They Let Her…

Author: Beth Poulin

She was made by great people, She came from great stock,

At the very beginning, darkness ticked not the clock.

 

She was born into privilege, She was born into light,
She was rambunctious in daytime, She was restful by night.

 

She was graced with some talent, She was blessed with some brain,
That precision, that pedestal, was hers to craft and to gain.

 

She smiled in the spotlight, She put trophies on the shelf,
She developed the image, but She had no sense of self.

 

She kept checking the boxes, kept seizing the day,
But the darkness was growing, She was not close to ok.

 

She took Their support, She fed off Their praise,
She made it look normal, and it seemed like a phase.

 

She had talent with lying, She could put on the show,
They had NO way to see it, They had NO way to know…

 

…And So They Let Her Rise

 

Her life become hollow, perfection too much,
The demons, the devils, the defects and such.

 

She preferred to be wrecked, to be broken, enslaved,

She had no interest in help, no desire to be saved.

 

She lied and She cheated and injured and stole,

Cared not for Her pieces, Her whole or Her soul.

 

She burned all her bridges and wore out Her welcome,

She drank and She starved with no care for the outcome.

 

They paid and They prayed, and They pleaded and cried,

But in heart and in mind They knew lightness had died.

 

They used all Their resource, They TRIED and They TRIED,

But They lost Her each minute She deceived and denied.

 

She spit in Their faces, explained away all Their fears,

She rubbished Their love and She laughed at Their tears…

 

…And So They Let Her Fall

 

She dipped toes in the water, to meetings She went,

She admitted She needed the messages GOD sent.

 

She listened to friends and saw fellows succeed,

She writhed and She thrashed to make peace with the need.

 

She tried to be ready, She opened one ear,

She stumbled, She mumbled, still best friends with fear.

 

She felt the disorder and dissected the pains,
She wanted back on the tracks, not to chase the wrong trains.

 

She tried one near-death shot, but that shot didn’t take,

She then knew to rebuild Oh Sweet God She must break.

 

The bottom She found and the bottom She sought,

Found that peace couldn’t be drank, or be purged or be bought.

 

She finally said quietly, could barely hold up Her head,

“I think I need HELP”, from Her hospital bed….

 

…And So They Let Her Grow

­­­

Doctors and Therapists and Counselors, Oh My,

She went and She vented with clear sparkle in eye.

 

She grew brave with the fight, the release of confession,

Knew corrected living was now her divined new profession.

She paid up and hushed up and stood up and found,
She would find Her full aura if She stood Her full ground.

 

She processed, accepted and wounds She did sew,
Fell into the balance and learned how to say no.

 

She re-entered the real word, pledged service and shared,

Showed family and friends and HERSELF that She cared.

 

She captured and raptured the saving power of love,

When it comes from within and around and ABOVE.

 

She kicked and She treaded, head stayed high above water,

Through the sunlight of the spirit, They again saw Their Daughter…

 

…And So They Let Her Go

 

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And So They Let Her… Author: Beth Poulin She

Personal Journeys, Poetry, Spiritual Recovery, Treatment Programs

Author: Logan

they teach you that drugs are bad

but they don’t teach you how to deal with the pain when you’re sad

nobody warned me it could get this bad

i swear i continue to lose everything i’ve ever had

but what do you do when you don’t give a fuuck

when your minds in a rut

always blame things on bad luck

and how the fuck is my mind so sick

life threw me lessons but it never would click

I thought I figured it out, finally found my cure

but all these pills do is put my mind in a blur

the devil asked me to dance so I said sure

it’s gotta be better than the feelings I endure

i swear it was working I couldn’t feel a thing

didn’t realize all the destruction that it could bring

I hurt people around me i hurt the ones that care

but then without them life became a fucking nightmare

I had had enough so I did something that was rare

I said i’m done doing drugs i swear

this pain is nothing i can bare

then the truth was revealed

everything became crystal clear

the pain will follow no matter what it’s always near

do i give up or persevere?

nothing really mattered the drugs were never enough

and everyone swears that i am so tough

little do they know i’ve been drowning cause life is rough

nothing seemed to stop me even being in handcuffs

i gave up everything, every dream

i was living on the streets without a fucking thing

as long as i had these substances to get me through the night

i swear my eyes used to shine so fucking bright

but now i struggle everyday to even find a light

tryna find something inside me to that I can ignite

but all i seemed to find was an evil gunfight

i’ve been at war with myself for as long as I know

no wonder why it feels impossible to ever let go

I been hurting bad and my eyes always show

eventually I realized the drugs had complete control

kinda like the government and the secrets that they hold

I started to think would i ever feel whole

and can I even reach a goal

if only I knew how it would unfold

i found a girl and I swear I had found gold

her personality shined so bright she was beautifully bold

so tell me how someone can turn so goddamn cold

I loved her so hard I never thought I could let go

my heart was broken but it fell apart a long time ago

I wish she knew my feelings but I always struggled to show

maybe if I tried harder she would still be by my side

but deep down i know she’ll forever be my ride or die

she really is the only one that can make me cry

but I still never want to fucking say goodbye

I’d give up anything even getting high

I mean that with all I have I can’t even lie

I don’t need anything else she does more than satisfy

when i’m with her I feel like I could fly

you really only meet someone like this once in a lifetime

I fell in love right away she needed to be mine

everydays a good day even if we out committing crimes

damn you should see this girl she’s a fucking dime

with her there’s not a mountain i couldn’t clime

when i’m with her i’m always in my prime

the day she left me destroyed me inside

I couldn’t get her off my mind as long as i tried

I needed something strong to make me numb

I would’ve pulled the trigger if I had a gun

what’s a life without my love I swore she was the one

when she was mine I swear I had won, like I hit a home run, if anyone were to hurt her i’d pull up w a shotgun

It hurt so bad I needed something strong

I was so down couldn’t even hit the bong

cause when I did she stayed on my mind for so goddamn long

then one day someone offered me a remedy

they said I promise you I found the perfect recipe

it’ll heal you mentally

way faster than therapy

so do you want the key?

please yes give me anything

I don’t care what it may bring

help me breathe

then they handed me something that would never leave

growing up we learned to stay away from any hard drug

but they must not know the feeling when it goes straight to your blood

that type of rush can’t be beat by any fucking hug

the needle is evil in the sweetest kind of way

the deeply rooted pain quickly began to slip away

this feeling of bliss i need it to stay

yes i had finally found the strongest getaway

even though i kept dying every other day

you’d think that would be enough for me to make a change

but nah I gave the dope man my life in exchange

I turned into a zombie from this game

I would find anything to blame

I didn’t even recognize the person I became

I knew it was lame and I was living in shame

and all the fiends seemed to feel the same

I could tell we were all tryna escape the fucking pain

the amount of lives i’ve had to save is truly goddamn sad

nobody does heroin unless things are really fucking bad

you know your head ain’t right

when you can’t sleep at night

never have an appetite

life doesn’t matter n i’m losing the fight

i don’t give a fuck if I make it through the night

life turns darker and I struggle to ignite

really losing all the light

everybody now notices my eyes don’t shine so bright

if your dancing with the devil just know he will bite

living this lifestyle your guaranteed to lose the fight

addiction is a battle nothing happens overnight

but if you put the work in you can take back your life

cause if you keep it up you’ll soon see the afterlife

don’t you want to feel alive? right now your just living to fucking survive

I promise you can make it through and you’re gonna thrive

don’t let your friends and family have to say goodbye

the pain you put them through is never worth the high

addicts know addicts n we always justify

but take my advice all of your problems will just multiply

and soon enough nothing will satisfy

i’ve lived my whole life using drugs to get by

you’ll have dual personalities like a gemini

now i want you to look me in the eye

i know your not happy and you can’t deny

listen to my words cause i only speak the truth

I wish I could turn the time back to my youth

I promise you there are better ways to soothe

because right now you don’t even know you

still feel so blue from what you’ve been through

stop destroying yourself if only you could see my point of view

just make sure your chillin with the right crew

you’ve been through hell there’s nothing you can’t do

n the real ones will always help you through

forgive yourself you’re only human too

pain is inevitable there’s nothing you can do

but you can grow from it or it’ll control you

you don’t need to fight this battle alone

i know you always try to do it all on your own

I promise it’s easier here try some methadone

don’t live up to expectations, set up your own milestones

  i know it’s hard but it’s okay to ask for help

stop the torture nobody can do it themselves

let people make it easier for you

love and support always helps you make it through

there’s no timeline recovery’s not a straight line

and relapses happen don’t let it be a reason to decline

you still have people rooting for you on the sideline

recovery is a process it’s hard and it hurts

but i know it’s fucking worth it if it gets you out the dirt

no matter where you go your addiction will always lurk

you’ll always be an addict and it’s constant fucking work

but don’t let it define you cause you have so much worth

I hope you fall in love with being alive

you’ve struggled a lot it’s been a long drive

you deserve happiness and some peace of mind

so give yourself a chance and leave that shit behind

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Author: Logan they teach you that drugs are

Personal Journeys, Poetry, Spiritual Recovery

By: Richard “Shane” Johnson

Nowhere to be, free as I want.
It’s either a dream, a realm,
Or could even be my hell!

Just taking up space, in this
“so called” Land of the free.
It Almost seems, I’m swaggering thee.

Yet, not so glamorous, but
Oh so “DARK”. Light sneaks in,
as to Post its mark.

Sun goes down, even the
sound. Night stalks in,
To free its sin.

It’s a weary feeling, since
Of confusion. As Angels rest,
Demons are flurrying.

They pull the strings, like
They are the masters. Puppeteering
people, to their disaster.

Controlling their minds, and driving
Their hearts. Into thinking,
“It’s better, to live in the DARK!”

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By: Richard "Shane" Johnson Nowhere to be, free

Poetry

By Tiffany Lace

Hello i am addiction,

I am also your all time low,

Im to blame for loved ones to leave you.

But by choosing me you must have want them to go.

Ive caused you so much trouble I’ve damn near destroyed your life.

Im more than whats behind the meaning of living and dying by the knife.

You see now you have no value nor the strength to make a drink im the reason your self worths demolished because of me you cannot think…

Makes me wonder why you haven’t left me yet like i made my all your loved ones leave you, or if your contemplating suicide the devils wins the battle for you..

Some people pay to go to rehab other people go to jail …

But even there you will crave me while all alone living in your little cell..

Your family they need you no holiday with out you is the same they never see you smile and my name is addiction so pick me to place them.

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By Tiffany Lace Hello i am addiction, I am

Personal Journeys

By Leslie Cappiello

His death. Unexpected and sudden. Happy and grounded he seemed at this stage in his life at thirty and preparing for his 12-year-old daughter’s arrival. He had not seen her in five years, mostly because he was using or in jail or in another toxic relationship.  However, things appeared to be turning around after he was released from jail.  He began working right away, saving up for an apartment. I was blinded by hope. but in hindsight, he was hiding his return to drugs and girlfriend, also an addict.

As his mother, I could only pray and encourage him to make good choices; stay away from others that brought him down. To see himself worthy of a healthy relationship. He had a lot to offer with a big heart and a forgiving spirit. I overlooked the darkness that he struggled with and encouraged him the best I could with positive affirmations. I lived in fear but believing somehow he would make it out of the pit of discouragement that followed him around like a dark cloud.  But in my denial, I missed the signs. Could I have changed the course of his final day? I wrestle with this question and sometimes find myself screaming at God, but in reality, I know that we all make our choices, but oh, how I wish it had been me instead of him.

He had me, an older sister, and three other brothers; we were close and supportive of one another, but it wasn’t enough. He missed his father. He went to live with him as a teenager; little did I know that his dad would bond with our son through drugs. When it became obvious what was happening, it was too late. He was 18-years-old, and now a father himself. The responsibility of his choices closed in. I did the only thing I knew to do, hit the floor on my knees in fervent prayer. Hadn’t God promised that he’d keep those we love safe from harm if we believed for what we asked for? That was my daily mantra and continued the illusion that everything was just fine. After his dad’s death, the depression tightened its deadly grip. He couldn’t shake the pervasive longing for his father, though he knew their relationship was unhealthy. He chose to hide his mental instability by becoming the life of the party. And abdicating his role as a father.

As the years sped by, so did his drug use; continuing the revolving door of incarceration. Though he had many close friends who encouraged him to go back to school, he couldn’t let go of his sadness and move forward. When they started graduating from university, getting married, buying a house, and having children, the truth of his choices became glaringly obvious; however, the drugs roared louder.

We all encouraged him to seek help for his depression, instead, he pushed his pain and dreams into one more shot. The ache of loneliness over the death of his father, along with his fear of following a simpler path pushed behind the barbed wire of his mind, temporarily assuaged by the needle; became his dividing line. The temptation to use one more time, a last ditch attempt to fill the chasm of depression, finally closed the door to what could have been.

But the real story of who he was deep inside was known only to us, his family. From an early age, he grappled with anxiety and depression, though he was the class clown in school. I made sure I was home afternoons, holidays, and summers, and encouraged his love of reading. He spent many hours lost in the world of Harry Potter among other fantasy titles as he grew up, and countless books about history. He knew every statistic about every professional sports team; wrote clever sports stories, but never published. Though he was urged to. Step out and see, we’d say. His beautiful brown eyes and sweet smile energized a room like a power surge of optimism. He met no strangers and never complained, even in the depths of his addiction. His friends uplifted by his charisma and wit never knew he buried his dreams within. He was made for more, but he couldn’t see it. He sat his sadness through humor, masking his pain, and sealing his fate.

He lent his light to those who took but never gave.  His heart whispered, urging him to own his voice, his desires, instead of the agonized clanging rush hour of do. The beam of his truth flashing briefly then vanquished to the tightrope of doubt and confusion. Out, Out brief candle, life is a fleeting shadow of choice. My son chose to anesthetize his hurt, but his real story remains. He is kind. He is love.

I wish I would have talked to him more about his depression and anxiety, maybe one more time could have altered the course of his life. But I can’t turn back the hands of time, I can only offer his story in hopes someone will seek help, or know they’re not alone.

So, for now, I turn inward and feel the rain that comes to me in my nightly dreams, darkening its silent waste around me. I fold into my grief. My amputated heart throbbing with the weight of memories. The mirror tells my story of the unimaginable – the loss of my firstborn son.  I am a stranger to my own reflection. My hair white overnight. The anchor of despondency pushing me to the floor, supine; where I gladly want to remain.

I know I must get on with life, my other children and grandchildren need me strong; so I rise and wobble on wooden legs like a puppet floundering for the stage floor. I am no actor nor puppet, but a mother carrying deserted lanes of pain. In silence. The well-wishers gone. The weight of my sadness highlighting their unspoken fear that somehow my loss is contagious. Though by not talking about mental illness and drug abuse, we remain in the comfortable illusion that all is well; while the hurting sons and daughters continue to play Russian roulette, denying the fact the game is rigged. The game always wins, if played in secret.

I carry his smile, his voice, his dreams. He enriches my life, though I will never be the same. Nothing is as it was. His story teaches me to be kinder, gentler; fearless to be honest about mental illness, and the counterfeit high of drugs that offer everything, but delivers nothing.

Life has put me on a path that I never chose nor wanted. To honor my son, my lacerated heart must forge a new trail of living.  Walking now with a limp, I press on.

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By Leslie Cappiello His death. Unexpected and sudden.

Poetry

My possesion is depression

Depression
making me unable
to move
get up, well
get dressed then!
so obsessed
with no obsession
overwhelmed
by nothing
but it’s truly a mountain
so dramatic
I feel
when I fall into depression
slipping away
feeling num
but always feeling too much emotion
empty but way too overloaded
anxiety comes with it
and makes me worry
worry about nothing
and mood changes fast
agitated, irritated and,
quickly overstimulated
the light that was there yesterday
some how today has faded
depression
why ?
just go away
thoughts in my head
begging you to stay
so I can just curl up
and roll away
under my covers
a bottomless abyss
oh how I wish
it didn’t feel like this
depression

© Janelle Erin Elizabeth Peters
all rights reserved 2020

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My possesion is depression Depression making me unable to move get

Poetry

Recovery is harder than getting clean
being sick is a place that, I have been
but being recovered well,
that’s new to me

How do you deal?
how do you deal?
how do you deal,
with how you feel?

With anxiety
the thoughts of the drug
make me run
to the washroom
why does that excite me?

Been down this road before
not a hurdle I wanna jump through anymore
been gone so far
thought I couldn’t return

Did I lose all parts good of me,
and the parts you yearn?
tell me why with my first mistake,
didn’t I learn?

Recovery it’s part of me
I live it everyday
I just wanted you to know
I get through it day by day

Recovery is here to stay
it’s harder than you think
but it’s worth every minute for me
not to pick up that drink
or take that pill

Nights felt like dying
nights that felt unreal
but back at it again
only to make the same mistake

Thank God for recovery
and everyday it makes me live
without it,
I wouldn’t have this writing gift to give.

© Janelle Erin Elizabeth Peters All rights reserved

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Recovery is harder than getting clean being sick

Poetry

Friend of Bill

I am a “friend of Bill”
hope you don’t know that thrill
but if you do
trust me
Bill’s the hardest friend I had lately

Bill doesn’t take no duff
and doesn’t take no lies
Bill sees right through you
before you even try

I was friends with Bob sometime
before I met this Bill
and Bob was quite the slob sometimes
but he was really chill
Bob was happy stealing pills
and selling to the mob
at the time I thought to myself, I really like this Bob

but you see Bob, he drug me down
so deep below, was covered in dirt
only my fingertips poking through the sand
if you got down close enough
you could grab me by the hand

and then someone did they pulled me out
another “Friend of Bill*
they offered me the big big book
instead of a tiny thrill

In my position
I thought why not give it a try
another foot of dirt on me
I’d suffocate and die

So Bill’s my new best friend
and he’s a friend to many
he could be a friend to you to
if you feel Bob’s growing old on you

© Janelle Erin Elizabeth Peters 2020 all rights reserved

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Friend of Bill I am a "friend of