He told me:
I was the best bag of heroin he ever tried
When he spoke to me,
I watch our love dissipate
Smoke in the air
Like everything else,
I'm sure it lingers somewhere
May has come, a broken Spring
Fractured girl, broken wings
Test the Spring, Spring failure
Spring Mess, may I change here?
A Porcelain Doll
Dressed like the Grim Reaper
In this pit of pure darkness,
I fall even deeper
Life isn't painful
And, love conquers all
There is a world I search for
A planet, I try to find
I'm searching for a world
One that's color blind
Legs and arms twitch
What chances of such an occurrence; a story—?
One of love, or is it?
While I question its level of authenticity or my own peculiar hallucinations,
My neck is shining in the dark
Our Chemistry; part of my Death-o-nomics
It's this new-age course I'm teaching
Death and preaching, from the ministry
It started due to our chemistry
He is my forever blind date
I can't touch him
But, can only feel it
Your name is on my lips
It's like the sharpest wit
Sounds good coming out
Explaining what this is all about
I enjoy your fury
Your soul is full of madness
I like the tone, the mood you set
With only a glance, that gorgeous sadness
Poison through every vein
This is the chapter;
Which finally explains
What turned me into this zombie
I just have one question—
One thing I want to know
Was she beautiful, when you cheated?
My ID abducted my ego.
On this roller-coaster of psychopathy, now we go.
Down this tunnel, this shaded peephole
Another asylum re-run, another re-show
I cannot take it anymore
These cravings drive me NUTTS
My CORE, it's gone—I'm so screwed up
Yes, I hear the call.
As I start to fall!
Years pass, years gone.
Singing the same bluesy song.
Vivid presence, but deadly hesitance
No reliance, shattered dreams
" A poem is a naked person...some people say that I am a poet." ~ Bob Dylan
I tend to give the impression of a very dark and complicated human being a large percentage of the time, however, I do have a very great (very dark) sense of humor. Characteristically, I am an intense, passionate and fiercely loyal human being. Creativity and intuition are my strong points. Over-analysis and severe neurosis, my weaknesses. To be perfectly honest to mark me as merely " flawed, " would likely be an understatement.
I have 'struggled' with drug addiction for nearly ten years and have been battling my disorders, compulsions, demons and other deficiencies of the human condition, for most of my life. Poetry and writing (visual | other art forms) have been the only outlets I've had to try and fend off some of my demons. Or, at very LEAST, an outlet allowing me to get in touch with my inner-demons to better understand them.
I have been writing since I was a child and plan to continue to do so on a personal level until my mind no longer permits me to. I use a lot of my amateur poetry, and photography, to create my own unique style of WebFilms. My signature style is tagged 'PHOetry-in-motion' which is a concept I developed entirely on my own. I've combined my poetry, photography, and other forms of art, when designing these WebFilms, allowing each one to tell its own new, and unique story.
I typically like to clash classic rock songs with my photography and poetry. Some WebFilms are lyric-less, while others use lyrics as the central theme. The objective behind all of the WebFilms is to, essentially, drive the viewer into a poetic abstract state.
I am also working on an autobiographical memoir series, written and presented as literary fiction. This is, undoubtedly, the one project I am putting fierce commitment, emotion, and energy into. I dream and aspire to be the type of writer who makes the page breathe...and, truthfully, in terms of my work, I don't want money, I just want to be a stellar, sincere, honest and authentic poet. The first novel in The War Stories Chronicles (mentioned above) is finished and available at addictarium.com.
This installment is " Addictarium: Asylum of Anarchy (War Stories Chronicles, I) "
" To be someone filled with neurosis, anxiety, and paranoia is to inevitably be someone who is a little obsessed with pain and death. Control, death, time and the other elements aforementioned, all intersect in some way. So, ironically; it is for this reason that I have found my way to live; by embracing death, accepting death, being a little in love with it, welcoming it and no longer fearing it- I have indeed found my way to live." ~ Nicole D.
Poisoned Apple (Fruit From The Forbidden Tree)
He told me:
I was the best bag of heroin he ever tried
When he spoke to me,
I swear to God, I think I died
It was like a feature film
It was cinematic bombs
Our lips—they touched
And, the manic switch turned on
He used to call me Negrita—
His dark little one
He said I would be, forever—
His poisoned dark black sun
We formed a dynamism—
Nuclear and fierce
Needle; through the skin
Each kiss was like
The gentlest of sins
"It's a M.A.N.S. world, " -he always said
When he kissed me hard,
I bled and bled and bled
I licked the blood—I did
Drunk from D.N.A.
Until I won the bid
As he stole another ray
He used to tell me:
I was a drug,
Which he refused to quit
He said every time we touched
It was like a swift, bold hit
He loved my rage, my violence
He always liked to say
He craved my mysterious silence,
Every single day
He worshiped my whole core
As I bowed down to his feet
I crashed right to the floor
But, didn't understand the defeat
Never, could I say—
What we really went through
It was beautiful but deadly
Yes, this could be said, is true
More than love, devouring
Cravings became empowering—
He was my king, my God, my heart
I was his Lolita star
The jagged edges—
We both shared
Souls broken, beauty smeared
It was just like an old film
I swear to God, it was
More than lust—
It had to be true love.
But, even true love bleeds
It chokes, it cries, it needs
And like all beauty, fading
We became a duo, jaded
Goodbye mi preciousa; "yo te amo."
I swear to God, I do—
I will always feel it
As I hear;
"Y yo ati, " from you.
© 2017-2020Poisoned Apple (Fruit from the Forbidden Tree) Nicole D'Settēmi
I woke up to remember the good times and the bad. I know one can't really exist without the other, so I always remind myself that life isn't about hanging onto memories, it's about experience. It's about learning from experience and understanding how to use it. It's about being intelligent enough to turn memories into golden moments, no matter what they may be.
Addiction is like swimming in an ocean for a very long time...drowning really, ready to give in. You're so tired, but you keep swimming, and then you start REALLY drowning. It's like trying to grasp for a breath, one tiny inhalation to keep going, and you get the one breath, but you are near death, suffocation, and each time you still manage to get one small breath in to keep going. Until finally either you break free, you swim away from that magnificent grip, that monster lurking that keeps pushing your head under, or you have drowned. You died. It's that simple.
When men perform egocentric activities, we tag it and brush it off like 'oh he's a guy, they have egos, '- as if to say women don't. Well, guess what? One should HOPE we have egos too. After All, without an ego, the only thing left is the ID. Primary ANIMAL instincts. You know what we call people with only an ID? Psychopaths.
The most interesting thing about writing a memoir is that people read it and automatically, think they have you pegged. You know? It would appear, an open book to your soul. But, I penned my own a decade ago. It was about a specific time. I'm not even the same person from one minute to the next, let alone a decade ago. So whatever you think you know about me, whatever crazy you've decided I am or fit, just remember... it's probably worse! '
The issue is when you mess with someone who is crazy, you might as well cancel the ride. Because there is nowhere left to drive someone like that.
In the Addictarium I learned one thing; life is about who we think we are, lessons are learned when we stop thinking negatively about ourselves. I learned that at the bottom of all addictions was the need to be loved, the bottom of all misery, the bottom of disaster. All of it led to love. Not being loved. Wanting love. Loving and not having it return. That's what every moment in history boiled down to. Acceptance...understanding- not feeling it, and therefore not feeling loved.
I always felt in a sort of, liquefied state. If that makes sense? I think it's interesting because I grew up near such a renowned, gorgeous and enigmatic landmark. Is it possible that nature interferes with and/or conditions us? I think so. At the end of the day, we are organic, we are offspring from the earth, sophisticated bacteria if you will. So, why wouldn't moods and traits, characteristics, emotions, habits, thought-patterns- why wouldn't all of that be affected by nature? Growing up near water, I sincerely believe, affected me in SOME way.
Stockholm Syndrome. […] It was a sort of desperate blind love. And loyalty. Loyalty and love geared towards the abuser.- 'It's a response to fear, an admission within of defeat, '- I'd read. But, honestly? I thought it to be more than that. It was the thrill of having something to submit to, become utterly powerless to. A sinister sort of seduction. You knew in your heart it would end badly, yet you just couldn't stop yourself from giving [B.K1] into that primal urge, the way prey finally accepts its fate, 'take me, ' it says, as the [B.K2] predator sinks its teeth in.
Because life-to be alive, existence—was power in itself, and death (not sodomy) was the ultimate submissive act. Everything else was just revolving around life and death. That was why people became obsessed with power, control, let fear drive them. Fear of the unknown, and ultimately of death, were the things that life revolved around. It was sort of ironic, life revolving around death, and vice versa. Like, with everything else, with one came the inevitable blossoming of its opposite.
There were days when the saturation of death, and the realities of life, became too great. Days where I felt suffocated, heavy. I'd try to grasp for a breath, and I'd fail. Yet, just in the nick of time, I would somehow, once again, be resuscitated. The world grew dark, cold. A black cloud looming over everything that I saw. People evolved into monsters-caricatures, and EVERYTHING was frightening, everybody was a predator! The world transformed, and I would choke. Plumes of dust representing reality, as they sought an exit from my mouth, as I wheezed, and I gasped. Reality was choking me, saturating me with its heaviness. Control? None whatsoever. Not over things, not over people. No, that was Life's illusion; control was the magic trick. The lack of control, I was truly speaking of, was the inevitable-death. The one thing that tied to everything, everyone. Every neurotic thought, every impulse. It was Death. The Random Act.
Part of me hated technology because to me technology was a mother fucker that was eating this world alive. It was all part of the machine, the deadening of the human spirit, and I wouldn't allow it. I had to see the world for what it was, drain it of all its illusion, because what lingered beneath? The wild, untamed beast, and in the end it would eat us all. That was something nobody could stop, not with any amount of money, or material things. Nothing that was part of physical reality could prevent death. So, to me, people were absurd, robotic, already dead. Buying fancy cars, big homes, the latest electronics, and all for what? The excuse was convenience. I need this. It makes things easier. Yet, while comfort may have been at the surface, the real thirst for these things, for material possessions, was to feel in control and to feel part of.
I couldn't bear the thought of what drugs could do. I wanted to cry, I felt the anguish, the pain, of all that was alive and suffering right then! How this world was dying, all of us, this lost generation. The Lost Children, The Lost Children, an echo drilled so penetratingly, so pervasively, in my head. I sucked in a breath, and now? I was choking.