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anthony-b-peralesPoems
Slumped over again, bad posture. Running a fingertip around the edge of a highball glass. Lost track of how many times life has led to this. Drinking but far from drunk. Using and still not high. Alone and still crowded by the memories. Took in all of the empty through bloodshot eyes that hadn't been a healthy white in far too long. Thinking, lost so much. Tried everything to **** it all away. Stabbed myself and missed again. Look forward to the next fix, need something. No Longer worried about the could have beens. Dance along like a dollar girl with all that has been given. Alone,better this way. Listen to the sound of the refrigerator hum. Call this music, Frusciante. Just me and the sound of the ceiling fan whipping. Passed out and called it sleep. I don't dream anymore, the dreams gave up on me long ago. Tossed and turned, reached out and felt no one there. Laughed it off then paced the room. Went to the window and peeked out at the sacred night. Back to the bottle and filled the empty glass. I began all of this alone. The crowds demand conversation. The stammer robs me of that. Sat and drank, sat and used. I dont need the crowds. I got Demons to keep me company.
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Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 6:07 AM UTC
Forlorn And Never Alone
Slumped over again, bad posture. Running a fingertip around the edge of a highball glass. Lost track of how many times life has led to this. Drinking but far from drunk. Using and still not high. Alone and still crowded by the memories. Took in all of the empty through bloodshot eyes that hadn't been a healthy white in far too long. Thinking, lost so much. Tried everything to **** it all away. Stabbed myself and missed again. Look forward to the next fix, need something. No Longer worried about the could have beens. Dance along like a dollar girl with all that has been given. Alone,better this way. Listen to the sound of the refrigerator hum. Call this music, Frusciante. Just me and the sound of the ceiling fan whipping. Passed out and called it sleep. I don't dream anymore, the dreams gave up on me long ago. Tossed and turned, reached out and felt no one there. Laughed it off then paced the room. Went to the window and peeked out at the sacred night. Back to the bottle and filled the empty glass. I began all of this alone. The crowds demand conversation. The stammer robs me of that. Sat and drank, sat and used. I dont need the crowds. I got Demons to keep me company.
anthony-b-perales
Written by
anthony-b-perales
American
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 6:07 AM UTC
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