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One day at a time, I'll turn it o-ver.
Keeping it simple now, I'm just stay-ing so-ber,
taking what I need/leave all the rest.
My mind will fol-low my body in quest.

HALT!
To turn it o-ver...
...one day at a time, just keeping so-ber.
Taking what I need, leaving all the rest.
My body to fol-low my mind in quest.

One day at a time, I'll turn it over.
Keeping it simple now, I'm just stay-ing so-ber,
taking what I need/leave all the rest.
My mind will fol-low my body in quest.

HALT!
To turn it o-ver...
...one day at a time, just keeping so-ber.
Taking what I need, leaving all the rest.
My body to fol-low my mind in quest.

One day at a time, I'll turn it o-ver. . .
These are the tips for the 12-step AA program. I just put them together in a rhyme for a song.
Jamie Lee Nov 2018
My addiction likes to play games with me

I try to hide, but it seeks me

On every occasion, or party

I want to just stay home-

***** it out with a pillow

Till it stops breathing

As I watch too much TV,

Count the drinks on the screen

Like counting sheep

3 pints of *****

2 beers

1 shot of whiskey

I feel myself changing

Between shifts, with no breaks in between

Some work overtime, I hear my addiction breathing-

3 PINTS OF *****

2 BEERS

1 SHOT OF WHISKEY

I would tell you all about it

But it’s a long story,

All guts and no glory

I can only talk about it when I’m drunk

On too early of a morning

Or when my eyes are stuck

On a ceiling fan, when I spin with the room

Words are fluid- like, they used to be

Now my lips are a broken cocoon

The words die behind a prison of teeth

Just old ideas, dead memories

That no one needs to hear or see

Sorry I won’t be seeing you at any parties

Sorry I won’t spill my guts for free

Or wait for you to wave to me

Hit me with the “how are you doing?”
    
Its not that I want to hide from you,

But my anxiety is looking for bullet wounds

Addiction hides in the skin

Of the people across the room

They have been shooting looks at me,

Every eye blinking my direction is lightning

Its striking me; how frightening

How fragile I can be, I’m sorry

Maybe that’s why

I plug myself into a wall

I stitch my mouth shut

And scream through the keyboard

Because I don’t want you to stop reading,

Or stop listening,

Just because

You don’t see me

At parties
Jamie Lee Nov 2018
My dad told me when you quit drinking
You finally hear the birds sing
On chirping mornings or dimming evenings
That will now be remembered
Every January through December, from here on out
Now I count every rose petal and press them in books
Jumping onto roofs, but not jumping off them
No more praying on cold bathroom floors
Finally live up to all the promises I made
When I was nothing but a shaking core
Who didn’t ask for help, but begged
To hear the birds again
I'm a recovering alcoholic and almost a month clean. Writing helps.
Dusting off the rabbity
that squirrely tempo anxiety,
closing in with night.

The irresistible pattern
the irrational illogical fight
a battle with one’s discipline,
mirroring our might.

I make it home a fluttering
belly twirled and muttering,
I tell myself tis alright!

The damage done, and everyone,
I’m just like them and millions more
succumbing at the Devil’s door.

And the taste, the burn,
the healing calm,
the shaking and the thinking gone.

Knock one back, slam out another
night is early, rock it brother,
Tying on a swilly swirling
buzzed-out brain and mind a twirling. . .

“Ahhhh…”

I feel better now, exhilarated,
exasperation falls to stout resound;
I pour again and knock it down!

“Ahhhh…”

Spinning now, not to say I’m spun
but choosey choosing several a pun
I see myself an accomplished one!
Yes, that’s it, that is me,
look upon with thoughts of glory
yank open the freezer for glass that’s hoary. . .

How cool am I? certainly not boring
all night I’m here, pouring, pouring. . .

Buzz subsides, thoughts slow too,
lurid leering, slobbering swearing,
stupid actions and nothing new?

I lose the bottle,
I lose my shirt,
***** on myself,
pass out in dirt.

Another night of drunken hero,
time that’s wasted for kingly Nero.
But who am I to judge myself?

I’m hardly worse than anyone else?
Jack L Martin Sep 2018
****** my cheddar
Give it a squeeze
Taste is bitter
On my knees

Blow the chunks
In huge hunks
Oil it
In the toilet

The porcelain
feels cool
On my face

Not done with this race

Round two
Time to spew
Do not try
heave it dry

No one there
To lift my hair
I don't care
Life's not fair

Trobbing pain
In my brain
Yes I'm sane
Sugar cane

One more round
Chug it down
I can drive
Won't survive

Watch the news
Drowned in *****
Now you see me
Now you see me
Khoi-San Jul 2018
I sleep at my mother's
My wife has repossessed
The bed and my neighbour
Does the plumbing etc.....
Stop get help or drink moderately it is addictive
#aa
Shannon O'Connor Jul 2018
It became the norm;
it didn't change overnight
but slowly and surely,
it became a habit.

A night out drinking
became drinking in alone
and a twisted tea
turned into half a bottle of *****.

No one noticed how bad it got,
that alcohol was missing
and I was constantly hungover
healing that with more alcohol.

I woke up
not able to handle my thoughts
not wanting to see the chaos
I created called my life.

Going out to drink with friends
became a weekly tradition
but drinking alone
became a nightly tradition.

Sneaking juice and ***
or Jack and Coke
whatever I could get my hands on really
just to calm my head.

To numb the thoughts
and chaos
that I made
to shut out the world.

A few nights out
with excuses of parties
became mixed
with nights alone in my room.

Doing shots
chugging mixed drinks
praying I wouldn't get sick
but knowing I would.

Just for those few hours
of nothing,
the numbness
of shutting my brain off.

Blacking out was rare
so I was never ready when it happened
always wondering
what happened in those hours lost.

Not knowing how to stop
becoming irritable without it
seeing the signs of addiction
not recognizing myself in the mirror.

Knowing I had to stop
and wanting to stop
were two different things
until she said those horrible words.

I cleaned up my act
pouring the hidden bottles down the sink
those words working better
than cold water to the face.
Rebecca Sue Mar 2018
Breathe,
Please for the sake of your heart.
Stop yelling!
Stop digging your grave deeper.
He wouldn’t hear, even if I spoke louder than his anger.
The frustration is building.
His fear, his brokenness.

A man tortured by an illness
A life not lived,
a person not changed.
From the bottle
to the cigarette
to the stabilizer
Fifteen year chip and he’s still the same

A woman helpless to helping him
“What did I do she always asks?”
As if she is to blame for his outbursts
his anger that covers his depression and regret
She’s not a victim, she has a family that supports her
If she could find the strength after thirty years
Married under a church and steeple, for best or for worst
Well what about her best? her Worst?
What about his decaying health?

Someone just walk away
Is there anything worth saving?
Besides themselves?
Joshua Michael Mar 2018
Its that feeling you get on the brink of a rough patch
You rush back to the drinking and just crash
You act different, distant and drunk as...
One bad binge then you blink and the cuffs latch
You drink *****, snooze and withdraw
Usually fall, puking and refusing to crawl
Wake up no memories confused at it all
Then a tear surfaces with nervousness
The darkness reemerges, asking is it really worth this
Na but pretend its fun
So fun you don't need a friend when your drunk
Just a loner on a balcony tempted to jump
To mend it with a thump can end it at once
Some days we trip when it rains
Cause the brain can slip
But staying strong though it
Hope someone related to this
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