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Reality
Author: Megan

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coming to
after passing out
my nose is bleeding
and i can't find you
or anybody we came with
and i know I'm about to be sick
so I'll lay in the bathroom
and find comfort on that cold floor
and hope i just die, or really begin to live.

i cling onto the toilet
and try to keep myself up
somebody opens the door
and i can see out
more lines are being snorted
more bowls are being lit
more screw drivers are being made
somebody else is passing out
but I'm just holding on

i know that I'm gone
and the frail line of consciousness
is blurry and gray
but there's this realization
that everything we are doing
every line we snort
every hit we smoke
every shot we downed
is just a portrait
of how okay we are not
how unstable our lives are lived

so I think about sobering up
like I have a million times before
and then decide i might rather
just die here tonight
while clinging to this toilet
with you in the background
snorting a line
as a bowl is passed around
to those who are waiting

I don't even remember how we got to this place
is it a place of no return?
Will this make up the rest of life
sobriety will fade to nothing
and never return
and I'll find myself here
holding on with all I have
not caring if I die
and hoping to truly live
And I know I'm completely messed up.
That is one thing I'm aware of.

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Comments on this poem/writing:

KitKatrina (68.189.34.19) -- Wednesday, September 14 2005, 07:41 pm

Loved it...

I really loved this poem, I really felt it. Such heartfelt words, and emotion I could feel. Keep writing, I'll keep reading...Great Job!
anonymous (152.163.100.197) -- Sunday, September 25 2005, 04:21 am

Saw this 1982

Oh how I remember that day. Holding on to the toilet. Looking down inside barfing my guts out. I made a promise then. "I will never do this again!" I've kept that promise and now it's 2005. You must do the same. Your life will be so much better. Make that promise Megan, if this is you. Take care!
 
Name:                                           Remember Me

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