BlueFlask - Hello Poetry

Red rigor no longer flows down yearly wails Walls sturdy from failing falls Bile and **** and ***** seep back into spongy holes And scab from ignorance Nights spent riding pink elephants fade to black Sweat stains no left from hitting the sack Shakes shaking off for a yearly coin flipped in the screaming meetings face Trying to look at the glass half full, Knowing I’d just drink that too I was sunk in handles when I vomited the sheets to my bed Its only right I lay in it 10 years laid on the line Oh god Oh god what have i done It's the yearly hangover The first of many Flipping the coin Keeping my head high Headlights speeding down that hill Wrap myself around the idea Lips swallow the bottle Injected straight into my rotted gut Lived liver holding it back Giving up 10 for a lifetime A year long hangover Dragged along the rock bottom ocean of spirits Ghost clawing at my face, red and broken Swollen joints, staring up Thinking swimming up was where the sun was While the moon pulled me closer Breaking the surface over and over Riding the ocean like captain jack Sober, it still hangs over Past sunk into the drains Along with scalded skin Curled ***** in the bottom of showers Shivering away your mass Until nothing is left But the stains on your soul I can never apologise enough for the things I don't remember I can only say I’m sorry until it falls on deaf ears All I have is the words “I’ve changed” After 365 days

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Feb 6

Feb 6, 2026 at 10:50 AM UTC

"Anniversary"

Red rigor no longer flows down yearly wails Walls sturdy from failing falls Bile and **** and ***** seep back into spongy holes And scab from ignorance Nights spent riding pink elephants fade to black Sweat stains no left from hitting the sack Shakes shaking off for a yearly coin flipped in the screaming meetings face Trying to look at the glass half full, Knowing I’d just drink that too I was sunk in handles when I vomited the sheets to my bed Its only right I lay in it 10 years laid on the line Oh god Oh god what have i done It's the yearly hangover The first of many Flipping the coin Keeping my head high Headlights speeding down that hill Wrap myself around the idea Lips swallow the bottle Injected straight into my rotted gut Lived liver holding it back Giving up 10 for a lifetime A year long hangover Dragged along the rock bottom ocean of spirits Ghost clawing at my face, red and broken Swollen joints, staring up Thinking swimming up was where the sun was While the moon pulled me closer Breaking the surface over and over Riding the ocean like captain jack Sober, it still hangs over Past sunk into the drains Along with scalded skin Curled ***** in the bottom of showers Shivering away your mass Until nothing is left But the stains on your soul I can never apologise enough for the things I don't remember I can only say I’m sorry until it falls on deaf ears All I have is the words “I’ve changed” After 365 days

43

45 degrees to the left on a two lane road Would stop the screaming Stomach no longer boiling in its own acid Just drowning in black coffee and take out Sweat no longer leaving a cartoon outline on the sheets Just need a cool ring pressed against my palate They said it would be cheaper Coffee quickly out spends the rot gut Staring through gleaming glasses Rather than the amber round, looking up Smiling and swirling around A dancer in the dark My own symphony Playing for me, just me As I shake shake shake It was always either the DTs or the cold A ***** soaked cocoon of the moth I am now Not right Never quite Roll the dice Let the monthly chips fall where they may Collect like them a thousand purple hearted liver spots Build a castle of coins Circular towers, thrown stones in miller’s glass lighthouse Addict yourself to getting better Its the only way forward Even when you are being pulled backwards

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Mar 29, 2025

Mar 29, 2025 at 2:14 PM UTC

The serenity prayer

45 degrees to the left on a two lane road Would stop the screaming Stomach no longer boiling in its own acid Just drowning in black coffee and take out Sweat no longer leaving a cartoon outline on the sheets Just need a cool ring pressed against my palate They said it would be cheaper Coffee quickly out spends the rot gut Staring through gleaming glasses Rather than the amber round, looking up Smiling and swirling around A dancer in the dark My own symphony Playing for me, just me As I shake shake shake It was always either the DTs or the cold A ***** soaked cocoon of the moth I am now Not right Never quite Roll the dice Let the monthly chips fall where they may Collect like them a thousand purple hearted liver spots Build a castle of coins Circular towers, thrown stones in miller’s glass lighthouse Addict yourself to getting better Its the only way forward Even when you are being pulled backwards

27

There’s a 4-chamber loaded gun in my chest, And with each two-tone squeeze, It threatens to paint the town me. Beat after beat, It ends in an impotent whimper— A muzzled dog, Never catching the rabbit. It’s the fear we love: Hands clasped around our throats, Each thump a muscle twitch tighter— A race of air versus pleasure, Nooses of arteries and veins Hanging from our own lifeblood, Swaying in the wind of each chamber’s misfire. Snub-nose barrel chest, Each strike of the hammers on blanks A beat against an ensnared drum. Fire clots through your spiderweb. Fulfill the destiny as the ticking time bomb— Be the weapon you were meant to be. A thousand-gun salute For the fallen soldier firing squad. Send your crimson rage deep into your host, Burst floods into your dependence. Fire blanks of misfortune. It only takes one to hit.

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Sep 13, 2024

Sep 13, 2024 at 4:11 PM UTC

Gun Devil

There’s a 4-chamber loaded gun in my chest, And with each two-tone squeeze, It threatens to paint the town me. Beat after beat, It ends in an impotent whimper— A muzzled dog, Never catching the rabbit. It’s the fear we love: Hands clasped around our throats, Each thump a muscle twitch tighter— A race of air versus pleasure, Nooses of arteries and veins Hanging from our own lifeblood, Swaying in the wind of each chamber’s misfire. Snub-nose barrel chest, Each strike of the hammers on blanks A beat against an ensnared drum. Fire clots through your spiderweb. Fulfill the destiny as the ticking time bomb— Be the weapon you were meant to be. A thousand-gun salute For the fallen soldier firing squad. Send your crimson rage deep into your host, Burst floods into your dependence. Fire blanks of misfortune. It only takes one to hit.

26

Living is staring at the spinning walls every night Love is thinking about texting someone and forgetting Happiness is driving for hours at a time with no end Living is waking up with your liver hurting Love is the daily phone call where you say everything is going just fine Happiness is being able to watch hours of YouTube at night Living is driving through the hills, windows down with some upbeat music Love is cooking foods that never turn out quite right Happiness is a quilt my great grandmother gave me Living is curling yourself up so tight that it hurts Love is reading the same books multiple times Happiness is waking up and never getting out of bed Living is the hand tremors Love is the acid reflux Happiness is from the bottom of the bottle Living is dancing to songs early in the morning Love is a warm bath with lavender Happiness is the smell of spring cleaning Living isn't what this is Love is as distant as the stars Happiness left long ago

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Oct 25, 2022

Oct 25, 2022 at 9:54 AM UTC

Living, loving, happy

Living is staring at the spinning walls every night Love is thinking about texting someone and forgetting Happiness is driving for hours at a time with no end Living is waking up with your liver hurting Love is the daily phone call where you say everything is going just fine Happiness is being able to watch hours of YouTube at night Living is driving through the hills, windows down with some upbeat music Love is cooking foods that never turn out quite right Happiness is a quilt my great grandmother gave me Living is curling yourself up so tight that it hurts Love is reading the same books multiple times Happiness is waking up and never getting out of bed Living is the hand tremors Love is the acid reflux Happiness is from the bottom of the bottle Living is dancing to songs early in the morning Love is a warm bath with lavender Happiness is the smell of spring cleaning Living isn't what this is Love is as distant as the stars Happiness left long ago

21

My tinny laugh fills rooms my lungs could only hope to achieve Merriment and the soul of old Bachus fills this weary frame I'm told I'm so full of life The life of the party So happy that I exhale living I'm living I am alone in my room I'm living Haggard blonde hair and purple eyes look at me in the mirror my face is red, my marbles are bleeding Thoughts of stories and characters I love with all my heart emesis on pages that used to be blank I talk to myself almost constantly words and phrases repeated in a Tourettic staccato Blinking away the inner rain as I walk into stores "Sometimes I just get hit with an intense sadness Where I want to curl into myself Light the forge of my heart Warm these dying limbs" I am told I look so happy And I wonder if I perhaps should have gone into acting I feel so often like the cliche asking myself in between podcast and music and **** "It's...never going to get better is it?" and I've spent so many years fighting to answer that question I've spent many years fighting for the answers to questions that I don't want to ask I'm struck by fits of inexorable sadness and two decades of reflection has given me nothing but these words written in dark rooms with my smiling face the life of the party

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May 18, 2022

May 18, 2022 at 9:04 PM UTC

Melancholia

My tinny laugh fills rooms my lungs could only hope to achieve Merriment and the soul of old Bachus fills this weary frame I'm told I'm so full of life The life of the party So happy that I exhale living I'm living I am alone in my room I'm living Haggard blonde hair and purple eyes look at me in the mirror my face is red, my marbles are bleeding Thoughts of stories and characters I love with all my heart emesis on pages that used to be blank I talk to myself almost constantly words and phrases repeated in a Tourettic staccato Blinking away the inner rain as I walk into stores "Sometimes I just get hit with an intense sadness Where I want to curl into myself Light the forge of my heart Warm these dying limbs" I am told I look so happy And I wonder if I perhaps should have gone into acting I feel so often like the cliche asking myself in between podcast and music and **** "It's...never going to get better is it?" and I've spent so many years fighting to answer that question I've spent many years fighting for the answers to questions that I don't want to ask I'm struck by fits of inexorable sadness and two decades of reflection has given me nothing but these words written in dark rooms with my smiling face the life of the party

33

The snow swirls around a cold room Iron in my stomach I'm burning up from the rotgut Open a door to invite the flurries inside Embrace my shivering limbs Cool my throbbing stomach Words come to me like spirits spilled across an ouija board subliminally controlled and full of promises we both know I can't keep Whispers into the crimson contents of upturned bottles Screamed into a porcelain bowl soon after My body is dying my organs are organizing a union against me they demand water less spirits maybe a walk around outside every once in a while I find myself wrapped in a comforter of my own ******** I'm letting down my body and so many other things handed so many things and failing to do anything with them I'm a shell I can't think about anything I can't do anything I am nothing

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Mar 12, 2022

Mar 12, 2022 at 9:43 PM UTC

Haunt Me x3

The snow swirls around a cold room Iron in my stomach I'm burning up from the rotgut Open a door to invite the flurries inside Embrace my shivering limbs Cool my throbbing stomach Words come to me like spirits spilled across an ouija board subliminally controlled and full of promises we both know I can't keep Whispers into the crimson contents of upturned bottles Screamed into a porcelain bowl soon after My body is dying my organs are organizing a union against me they demand water less spirits maybe a walk around outside every once in a while I find myself wrapped in a comforter of my own ******** I'm letting down my body and so many other things handed so many things and failing to do anything with them I'm a shell I can't think about anything I can't do anything I am nothing

25

The words in my head are buzzing between themselves so angry they want me to do something more, something different like they have a mind of their own they want to be me so bad flesh and ***** instead of words and synapses; I'm so sorry I try so hard to say its not my fault I curl into the bath with them they whisper to me taunt me tell me I'll never be 'the show' I try and numb myself but their words cut into me like a knife heated to spread butter their words fill my brains folds and I walk around with my brain smoothed into my skull I go into my moods throwing, creating, drinking forcing ideas into the wall the miserable sound stings as the slide down my skull; the first whispers down my spine making my feet hurt after standing all day in dress shoes; the second whispers along the walls teasing what others have said; the third sits inside me telling me what I really need to hear from myself; I **** and moan and rage as they talk among themselves they tell me most don't have a voice that controls them they say they control the voice I call ******** There's a voice inside me that doesn't want others to know he exist and tries to stop me from knowing him; these insects plague me; the voices can't be played with trapped in my head but they become flies trying to suffocate me in sleep I swipe at them my hands joining them in the air symphony I fold in on myself it hurts it hurts a lot my body is telling me to go my mind is screaming stop I hug them both in bed at night. Trying to convince one to take the blame

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Sep 11, 2021

Sep 11, 2021 at 12:03 AM UTC

voices are flies around me

The words in my head are buzzing between themselves so angry they want me to do something more, something different like they have a mind of their own they want to be me so bad flesh and ***** instead of words and synapses; I'm so sorry I try so hard to say its not my fault I curl into the bath with them they whisper to me taunt me tell me I'll never be 'the show' I try and numb myself but their words cut into me like a knife heated to spread butter their words fill my brains folds and I walk around with my brain smoothed into my skull I go into my moods throwing, creating, drinking forcing ideas into the wall the miserable sound stings as the slide down my skull; the first whispers down my spine making my feet hurt after standing all day in dress shoes; the second whispers along the walls teasing what others have said; the third sits inside me telling me what I really need to hear from myself; I **** and moan and rage as they talk among themselves they tell me most don't have a voice that controls them they say they control the voice I call ******** There's a voice inside me that doesn't want others to know he exist and tries to stop me from knowing him; these insects plague me; the voices can't be played with trapped in my head but they become flies trying to suffocate me in sleep I swipe at them my hands joining them in the air symphony I fold in on myself it hurts it hurts a lot my body is telling me to go my mind is screaming stop I hug them both in bed at night. Trying to convince one to take the blame

50

There's a bluebird in me He drowns in my left ventricle Shots of liquor and stories After I shout at him to be quiet for one more evening Let my hands dance across what they may The paper, the keys, the strings, the body I hush him when he whimpers Telling him tomorrow he can breath He wants to get out I talk to him when he flutters I ask if he wants this to end Sure things are bad He can’t sleep as the frogs croak in my throat And the violinist plays my intestine strings But I glare at him Telling him he wants to give up the good times Accusing him What about the smiles on our friend's faces? What about being real to us? What about the success we’ve made soaked with our whiskey-stained tears? He wants to get out When it's late, I let him out There is no shortage of alone time with him He never feels lonely in our tango I let him fly around my room as I toss and turn We watch the lights of the parking lot fly across the walls Looking at the designs our blindness gives us Can we find a story on those walls? A phrase, an idea We often go to bed tired and wake up so With the lights giving us nothing He wants to get out I whisper to him that he is right Neither of us believes me But he will always be trapped in my heart And he can’t ****** me to change The lights are telling us a story of a bird Trapped in a cage. We won’t talk about who it is But they want to get out

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Jul 16, 2021

Jul 16, 2021 at 10:56 PM UTC

Blue bird by the man

There's a bluebird in me He drowns in my left ventricle Shots of liquor and stories After I shout at him to be quiet for one more evening Let my hands dance across what they may The paper, the keys, the strings, the body I hush him when he whimpers Telling him tomorrow he can breath He wants to get out I talk to him when he flutters I ask if he wants this to end Sure things are bad He can’t sleep as the frogs croak in my throat And the violinist plays my intestine strings But I glare at him Telling him he wants to give up the good times Accusing him What about the smiles on our friend's faces? What about being real to us? What about the success we’ve made soaked with our whiskey-stained tears? He wants to get out When it's late, I let him out There is no shortage of alone time with him He never feels lonely in our tango I let him fly around my room as I toss and turn We watch the lights of the parking lot fly across the walls Looking at the designs our blindness gives us Can we find a story on those walls? A phrase, an idea We often go to bed tired and wake up so With the lights giving us nothing He wants to get out I whisper to him that he is right Neither of us believes me But he will always be trapped in my heart And he can’t ****** me to change The lights are telling us a story of a bird Trapped in a cage. We won’t talk about who it is But they want to get out

40

Skin falls around my nails like so many ribbons They gum up my keyboard Trying to stop my fingers from completing their duet Across these blank keys I pause To bite a nail To drink some water To look around me Fall out of the moment Life is just a series of pauses Flying by to fast to recognize But a moment isn’t a point It’s this big messy thing A moment is the edge of your vision No hard lines, just a melding of there and not there Like water flowing from one spot to the next No matter where it is

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Jul 2, 2021

Jul 2, 2021 at 12:39 PM UTC

To the nail biters

Skin falls around my nails like so many ribbons They gum up my keyboard Trying to stop my fingers from completing their duet Across these blank keys I pause To bite a nail To drink some water To look around me Fall out of the moment Life is just a series of pauses Flying by to fast to recognize But a moment isn’t a point It’s this big messy thing A moment is the edge of your vision No hard lines, just a melding of there and not there Like water flowing from one spot to the next No matter where it is

17

Words flow through this point like it was being fed by a vein Each pump of this mechanical failure spilling them out I use the finest tipped pens to create such delicate lines I am writing this on a legal pad Sitting in the nurse's station I write whatever I can Wherever I can This is written on the back of some notes I took on a patient Who twist his words without even realizing Just how caught up in himself he is I see so much of myself in him So much of a life I've been fighting to end So obsessed with myself while hating the very idea of narcissism Humble to show those I could be I was nice, I was there, I was Different That was before though Before college Before friends Before my liver became harder than I ever could after starting Prozac I am so different than him now But I have to wonder Will I say the same thing about myself now After a few years Will I be writing this Again?

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Mar 1, 2021

Mar 1, 2021 at 2:00 PM UTC

Fantasy of Self

Words flow through this point like it was being fed by a vein Each pump of this mechanical failure spilling them out I use the finest tipped pens to create such delicate lines I am writing this on a legal pad Sitting in the nurse's station I write whatever I can Wherever I can This is written on the back of some notes I took on a patient Who twist his words without even realizing Just how caught up in himself he is I see so much of myself in him So much of a life I've been fighting to end So obsessed with myself while hating the very idea of narcissism Humble to show those I could be I was nice, I was there, I was Different That was before though Before college Before friends Before my liver became harder than I ever could after starting Prozac I am so different than him now But I have to wonder Will I say the same thing about myself now After a few years Will I be writing this Again?

27