Addiction Poem

Addicted to Smoking Pot Poem

This is a poem about myself. I smoke marijuana. If you smoke marijuana to my extent you might be able to relate... its terrible.

Where Am I, Who Am I

© Lyla-lost
I wake up in the morning, see your not there.
By 10am I feel sick, I need you my dear.
Why canít I have you all the time.
I need you. It hurts me it makes me cry.
I canít handle the truth, reality and life.
You are so good you make me feel unreal.
I would rather be with you then anyone else.
I canít eat or sleep without you baby, you are my world.
You drive me insane.
All I want is your pleasure,
but hunting for you is pain.
What the heck am I going to gain.
forgetful, always broke and looking dopey.
who wants to be friends with a phony.
I will pay you back, maybe next month.
I do nothing until then but sit on my ass.
While I constantly smoke my grass.
24/7 its a full time job.
Now Iím bored with life
God why did you let me see.
at such a young age, how good marijuana can really be.
It has ruined me from time to time,
Iím just hanging in there I will be just fine..
Fighting fighting and more abuse.
Iím lost in my own world and canít anybody see.
now nothing is making sense to me
I donít know who I am any more.
Iíve lost the plot until the very end.
I have no feelings my friend.
Iím not a person nor human, male or female.
I am a doped up scumbag and I can never change.....


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Rating: 3.77

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Published: Feb 2008

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  • omg!! that is ever so sad :((( god bless you

    britt Submitted Jan 2009
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  • It has touched me. It is like it is my friend telling the story.. Although we cannot really call ourselves friends at the moment. and I feel so sad about it I don't know how to help him.

    Maria Submitted Aug 2010
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  • Wow OMG that is sad because this person is screaming for help. I'm pretty sure it is not just the pot making you feel this way you have severe depression and need some help. Trust me I am a recovering addict I blamed everything on my drug of choice but in the long run if you feel that bad you have something like bipolar and need help right away. God bless you and I hope you get all the help you need.

    Valerie, Toledo Ohio Submitted Aug 2010
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  • I have the same problem... all I think about is weed, I don't make it to school, and when I do go I'm high, my friend is in jail cuz of it, I don't feel anything but sad unless I'm blazed, I just can't live like this but if I don't smoke weed I don't feel right it's eating me alive how much I do it my eyes always hurt cuz they r so bloodshot I love weed but I don't want to, it's something people shouldn't get into... I lost so many friends cuz they just call me a dope head and they say they won't be friend till I quit but I told them I'm never going to. what to do...

    Dustin, Gorham Submitted Jan 2011
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  • My 19 year old son could be writing this poem. He was addicted to Oxycodone and Zanax (snorting) but has been off of that for about 6 months. He now lives to smoke weed. He can't get a job because he can't pass the drug test. He dropped out of College because of the drugs/dope. My heart aches for him each and every moment of each and every day. His older brother took him to Texas to get clean, we are at this place....too sad.... too true!

    Chris, Pewaukee, WI Submitted Feb 2011
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  • The guy I have major feelings for since freshman year ( I am now a Junior)
    Has the sameeeeeeeeee problem.
    Some times I wish I could help.
    I'm sorry your going through this.
    If you need any thing, I'm always here :)

    Jen, Onley Submitted Feb 2011
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  • Hi, this is so very sad. I have suffered the same problem. It is a form of self torture. I have however given up now. I work full time. This drug is still smothering my partner.
    I wrote a poem about him this morning.

    I wake up in the morning, you're not there.
    I see you there, on the sofa cradling your sweet herb.
    For breakfast. The usual please?
    For now, no longer a treat, this defying addiction of mental affliction.
    Your face, oh your once gorgeous face.
    Now lifeless, dull, dreary, grey. He's suffocating.
    A call for help. A call for help, Please
    Your poor, obsessive lost soul. I find myself feeling pity upon you.
    I miss you my beloved. So much, I miss you.
    This tedious self destruction. How do I stop it?
    It's smothering you.
    It has taken over.
    Your soul is numb. For the demon has ascended.
    This is not for you. It was never for you.
    You are 25 but, who is to know my love.
    I wake up in the morning, you're not there.
    By Heidi Jackson

    Heidi, Hereford, UK Submitted 2/17/2014
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