I go to order a drink to help me forget
As I look at the menu one catches my eye and all I can remember is what you were wearing when we first met
Samuel Adams printed across your chest
and now you're all I can remember when I'm trying so hard to forget.

The two ol' pals are facing each other.

He passes a glass of poison
to his dear guest, leaning
near the front door, slightly opened;
and he's learning the reason—

why he's standing there,
about to storm out of the stone-cold apartment—
'bout to burst in tears
shedding the vivid droplets

that shouldn't be belonging to a mere ghost.
Yet he's fleeting, escaping the scene still,
while the owner of the kitchenette
is putting back the bottle

    to where it belonged;
    and he's gone, present no longer.

The drink on the rock—left on the shelf—
is evaporating, following the vaporized guest,
leaving the scent of faint alcohol
that lulls the other friend to regretful sleep.

In a mess, I awake to the feeling
I didn’t do it,
so I puke and I crawl and I drink
just to do it all again.
At night, I am needlessly obsessive in
wasting time,
only maudlin with alcohol stained tears
alone in a bathroom stall.
In the harsh darkness, my shadow falls
to its knees
reckless and voluntarily debauched
can’t stop the sins from slipping out.
At times, I have discovered myself
to be obscene
so I scream instead of honeyed whispering
begging for the familiar collapse.
Crazed, I shake my hair out and leave
before you notice,
walking like a shameless heretic
to find the next version of myself.
For a moment, I twist and turn sour
in your mouth,
and if you thought kissing me would save me,
you were wrong.

Aching head, bruised legs
Purse much lighter, and my pride
Annihilated

An orange light peaks through the window
Hatefully greets another day.
He pulls the red sleeping bag over his head
Wishing this nausea would subside.

Fresh scrapes across his knuckles
And violent, violet bruises on his knees—
Just another average morning
For this angry young man.

Stumble from the futon
Amongst the battle ground of empty cans,
Searching for lost left over liquid—
The only remedy he’s ever known

What some people call a disease,
He calls it the cure,
But there’s nothing there—
No more money, no other options—this is it.

Sipping on a cup of reality—
The bitter taste of defeat.
Tired of being tired
And sick of being sick.

Earthquake in his stomach,
A tectonic disturbance.
Heartburn made from magma,
A pyroclastic flow.

Dry heaves and convulsions
Above a porcelain *******.
He knows he needs to stop,
But no one likes a quitter.

Worthless, wasted wits.
Weak— with out wisdom.
Inebriation inevitable.
Unsealed, unburdened
Unstoppable urge.
Transformed—
Transcended,
Talents transpire.
Potion, pen, paper...
Producing power.
Carefully crafting
Clever Cuneiform.

touch of amber in his morning cup,
espy to the mug neighbouring

caffeine in the burning steam,
bourbon in bubbles

glazed views,
fake passion

a kiss of liquor

A tavern built on misdeeds and insurrection,
House of rascals, whisky and imperfection
A hideaway for rebels and racketeers,
Where drinks are served to outlaws and mutineers,
Where the pianist plays for pirates and privateers,
Where the wicked and the wayward can be served,
And are respected however undeserved.

It’s a rag-tag bunch of outlaws and anarchists,
A cavalcade of rough revolutionists,
So come on in my dear insurrectionist,
Welcome to our lawless little band,
Welcome to the Tavern of the ******.

Come and join our banished battalion,
Join our cause, oh revered rapscallion,
So calling out to nature’s abominations,
We’ve got bourbon, bombshells and indignation,
Come and wait for imminent and sure damnation,
No matter what your deviance may be,
Come and join the drunken reverie.

It’s a monument to lost souls and deviants,
A shrine to every small disobedience,
A riotous, cathartic experience,
Where radicals are safe from reprimand,
Welcome to the Tavern of the ******.

Welcome back, my worshipped renegade,
To the place where freedom’s sweet as lemonade,
Where skanks and outlaws, sing so intoxicated,
The anthem of the unkempt and agitated,
The mantra of the evil and of the hated,
Laughing as they sing their merry tune,
Unified by their impending doom.

It’s a testament to chaos and anarchy,
A haven for the worst of humanity,
A house of lawlessness and profanity,
Welcome to our lawless little band,
Welcome to the Tavern of the ******.

The air is toxic,
These brown paper bag clouds
Clogging up our lungs
We wash our ash covered feet
But it’s seeped into the bloodstream
Trickling down into a much larger lake.

So we take the plunge
Swimming in the lake of serotonin
We dive down deep and admire the fish,
Such bright coloured fish relaxing at such depths.
Everything is better down where it’s wetter,
But with lungs not gills
We all have to come up for air.

We resurface and time has moved on
The air is getting thick now
And buildings have crumbled.
Entire generations of degraded graduates
Emerging from the thick mud of the banks of the lake serotonin.