Alcohol and Tramadol

16 Aug

Washing ashes down the sink,
as though it would always be so easy
to wash away memories of you
and everything you meant to me.
Finding all the lovesick notes,
crumpled and faded under your bed
- at least, I imagine all the words I wrote
now mean as much to you as the words I said.

Words like “I love you”, I know mean little to you now
soulmates no longer, or that’s how it seems
all the carefully constructed speeches and promises
now lie strewn around us, torn apart at the seams,
and the one thing you never considered
was that I could be hurting as much as you
that I could be regretting every last moment
I could be hating myself for everything I put you through.

Hurting myself to forget the pain,
and pills to help me sleep at night
how could you believe that I knew it would happen;
and that this was something I thought was right?
Alcohol and Tramadol,
quick fixes which never seem to last
uneasy sleep and confused dreams,
and morning always comes too fast.

I slide further downwards and I don’t want to stop,
this is all I believe I ever deserved,
bittersweet lullabies and a twist in the tale
how can you say that I never cared?
Three weeks by the window,
three weeks on the floor,
21 days in the corner,
1260 minutes by the door.

Waiting impatiently for your call,
knowing I could mean so little to you
compared to my feelings, which never changed
despite everything we put each other through.
Despite it all, I still reach out,
I still never felt safer than I do by your side
I still think of you last thing at night
I still want you, and only you, to be mine.

Washing my hands but I’ll never come clean,
I’ll always be stained by all that I did
it was never as easy as you’d like to think
I always told you the truth, more than I hid.
Lovesick letters, secreted in books,
where you’ll never see my weakness for you
I kept the letters, the pictures, all the photographs
despite everything we put each other though.

(c) 2008

2008 was the year of poetry. Clichéd late-night ramblings fueled by painkillers and cheap bottles of red wine. Cigarette burns on the PVC bedroom window frame and knocking myself out with tranquilisers to hide from the inevitable breakdown. Things with O were coming to an end and his habit of breaking up with me then coaxing me back into bed – speaking of how he couldn’t live without me – confused everything to the point where I fell apart entirely. Poetry was the only way I could stay in reality. 

I cheated on him; slept with a 45 year old man. He cheated on me; throwing himself at a nineteen year old. Everything was messed up. We never recovered. 

I’m glad. 

I have S now.

About these ads

Posted by on August 16, 2012 in Every day life


Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

36 responses to “Alcohol and Tramadol

  1. faithhopechocolate

    August 16, 2012 at 7:34 pm

    I’m glad you have S too. And also that you’re comfortable sharing your words with us from these darker times. ((((hugs))))

    • halfwaybetweenT

      August 17, 2012 at 12:05 am

      ((hugs)) heading right back your way, luv. I suppose I’m glad in a way that I kept a lot of writing from the past. It helps put things in perspective a little.

  2. mimijk

    August 16, 2012 at 7:40 pm

    It is amazing to look back at the damage we do to ourselves in the name of love isn’t it? I’m glad you have S too – and equally certain that he is glad he has you too..:-)

    • halfwaybetweenT

      August 17, 2012 at 12:06 am


      Cheers m’dear. The damage I’ve caused myself simply by loving another person… well, it probably adds up to 90% of my problems now.

      • mimijk

        August 17, 2012 at 10:33 am

        And now you’re on a way healthier road, so that 90% continues to diminish everyday, little by little..

  3. carlarenee45

    August 16, 2012 at 8:06 pm

    amazingly intense, I can remember feeling that way and I think a little of it stays with us doesn’t it?

    • halfwaybetweenT

      August 17, 2012 at 12:07 am

      It does. It’s like a ghost which never quite leaves the room. Does that make sense?

      • carlarenee45

        August 17, 2012 at 12:36 am

        yes, it does. I can relate to that. ;-)

  4. buckwheatsrisk

    August 17, 2012 at 12:15 am


  5. judithatwood

    August 17, 2012 at 12:28 am

    Sweetie, wholehearted love and hugs to you from this side of the pond. Your words speak volumes; I’m sorry for the hard, hard luck or result or whatever you want to call it, and I am lighting my Ganesha candle right now, to help remove obstacles from your life. Hang in, my friend.

    • halfwaybetweenT

      August 20, 2012 at 9:33 pm

      Sweetie, you’re absolutely lovely. The anxiety has lifted a lot over the past couple of days, so perhaps there’s something to those candles. Thank you so much <3

  6. Shelly

    August 17, 2012 at 12:44 am

    One of my favorite posts of yours… so in touch with the harshness of love…

    • halfwaybetweenT

      August 20, 2012 at 9:34 pm

      Wow, thank you! It’s always lovely to be told readers have favourite posts. Take care of you Shelly <3

  7. dramajunkiee

    August 17, 2012 at 2:42 am

    Wow – very real. Very painful. Its something I relate to and feel, it hasn’t left me or washed off yet…
    I really liked this. Xoxo

    • halfwaybetweenT

      August 20, 2012 at 9:35 pm

      I’m not sure if it ever truly leaves you. You can push it aside and let it go but… I think – for me at least – there will always be a ghost of it lurking somewhere. Thanks much, dramajunkiee <3

  8. runningonsober

    August 17, 2012 at 3:16 am

    I really liked this! I have boxes and boxes of writings and letters and poems from my pain filled past. Misery can be such a Muse, but ah so can love and self-discovery.
    You’re quite talented, I really look forward to reading more. Thanks for reaching out. :)

    • halfwaybetweenT

      August 20, 2012 at 9:36 pm

      I’ve found love and self-discovery to be a difficult muse; there’s no doubt that misery is easier to write about. I think it’s a fantastic release to write those feelings down.

      Thank you so much!

  9. The Quiet Borderline (back in hospital)

    August 17, 2012 at 10:38 am

    So happy for you that you have S. x

    • halfwaybetweenT

      August 17, 2012 at 3:15 pm

      Me too. I don’t know what I’d do without him x

  10. meredith

    August 17, 2012 at 1:32 pm

    I cried. Well, I’m crying now. It’s a beautiful poem… so real.

  11. hypercryptical

    August 17, 2012 at 10:32 pm

    Love is such a strange thing in that when lost it causes so much pain. Love the poem and view the hurt as part of the journey to find S. Life is complicated isn’t it?

    Loadsa hugs.

    Anna :o]

    • halfwaybetweenT

      August 20, 2012 at 9:38 pm

      It is indeed. I thought I could never survive without O, but now realise he was a step towards meeting S. Life really does move in mysterious ways.

      Hugs right back <3

  12. OnX

    August 18, 2012 at 6:16 am

    The poem was a recitation of my life as it is at present. I was astounded to learn that I’m not the only one who feels as I do and has faced the same challenges I’m facing now. I’d say more, but I’m still tending the tender spots where a certain person used to reside in me. I am lost in general, but I am really lost for words. Thank you for giving OUR feelings a voice.

    • halfwaybetweenT

      August 20, 2012 at 9:39 pm

      *massive hugs*

      Comments like yours are why I keep writing. Thank you so much.

  13. kolembo

    August 19, 2012 at 8:02 pm

    And this is gorgeous now. I hope S always some space and so do you. It took me twenty years to recover from J. Just when I thought it would never happen, I found S. I tell you what though…this poem rocks…severely. It’s not often love poetry works out…too much internal. This one cuts through all that rubbish and lays out what is there when people break up. It’s very good!

  14. OnX

    August 21, 2012 at 9:48 am

    Hi halfway! I am writing to ask: Would you mind if I re-blogged this poem? I’m more than happy to link to your site. It’s just that this so completely resonates with my life that it’s both cool and spooky at the same time. Don’t ya love it when that happens? :D If you’d rather I directed readers to this page, that’s fine too. Whatever your preference, as a fellow writer, I am more than happy to abide.

    • halfwaybetweenT

      August 21, 2012 at 5:31 pm

      Oh, a reblog would be fine; thank you for asking. I’m never quite sure how to react when a post of mine gets re-blogged; it’s a good feeling, but I think it’ll always feel a bit strange!

  15. pdlyons

    August 21, 2012 at 4:31 pm

    mine was alcohool and tuinal,seconal or ludes for a long time lived in a down town. your are poetical true.

    • halfwaybetweenT

      August 21, 2012 at 5:18 pm

      Yes they’re okay, thank you:)

      And thank you; it’s strange, I never thought of these being poetry. They were just things I wrote (usually typing on my cheap mobile phone) while I was stressed. I’m glad – in a way – that you’ve been there yourself. Not glad that you had to experience it, but that you understand.

      • pdlyons

        August 30, 2012 at 5:56 pm

        i think one of the benefits of living long enough is that you find a way of seeing how all experiences have merit – sometimes painful but always learning from them. i began with poetry a a survival tool. when there was nothing at least i had writing to do. kept the isolation from being too overwhelming. most of the time…. now the dog days are over

  16. pdlyons

    August 21, 2012 at 4:32 pm

    yeah are reblogs ok? like reposting the poem on my blog with links? like onx says?


Send me love.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 2,898 other followers

%d bloggers like this: