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Moony Oct 19
There is a monster under my bed.
Hauting, screaming, hurting me.
It talks to me every night.
I believe it doesn't want me here.
It screams and cries, acts more like a child than me.
It smells of the bottles in the glass container.
It stumbles up the stairs.
It opens every window, let's the cold winter frost in and hopes it freezes time.
Instead, it freezes me.
I wait, behave, hope.
I stay silent so it doesn't notice I'm here.
Tomorrow it will wake me up.
Tomorrow it will attend a parent-teacher conference.
Tomorrow they will praise it.
"You did a good job raising her"
Tomorrow it will turn into my mother.
Tomorrow night, the monster returns.
Hastfan Nov 2022
Dad heard but never listened
Looked but never saw

Time spent was time wasted
And silence was our loudest talk

Money given was always taken
Reclamation for timeless thoughts

Dad went but never waited
Answered but never called

When time was there for us to talk
Dad drank,
and silence won once more
CJ Sep 2022
I am the most sincere
whenever I tell them “I’m here”
when they’re feeling lonely
and most definitely needing somebody
But I cannot do anything
if they keep going missing
when it’s my turn
to need them the most
I just turn to my champagne
to honor my anguish,
raise my glass for a toast

fear the unknown Sep 2022
Liquid sand can create liquid despair
That distilled poison seeps through
Stinging my skin when you touch
My eyes swell, disappointment or fear
neth jones Jun 2022
Man enters the tavern                            
Claps down some cash and outbursts ;
                                                       'Thirsty Things Firstly !'
The barman evaluates his condition      
And provides a session brew

Man tilts toward potential company
(a ferrety bloke in the shadows)
"Pull up that stack of milk crates        
                 And halve a heart with me"
(he earns a quick friend                      
                         in a tolerant stranger)

Soon fellow gaspers fill out the gloom
And an eve of humour descends
Though soon upending
Gourds downed the gullet
Sunk ugly into the scene
The tippling wit drags the night
              to the Slurry Pit

things turn Psychologically Rugged
his Mates soon round on him
bulldozing at the Elbows
saying he's a Cheapskate
they Berate him with rigorous Rattleprat
he's been goated with the Cain's mark
they tousle his crown malicious
Thorough in his cups and eaves
he mumbles and leaves
heaving up bile words

outside is dark and harsh
Outside the whole wild world does wail and weary
he sings to match its melancholy
but sadness lifts with his altered view
he sees 'a flock of moons' weigh down the sky
and natures churn                                    
                     makes a phosphorescent stew of it all
... decay                        
                 to lifes' celebration
'to see a flock of moons' is an old saying meaning drunk


decay to life (first part)

the scentless winter over
snow melts            
evacuates into the ground                        
                   under Spings attention

Springs arrival elevates mood
alleviates the heart halved by Winter

our strained eyes are relieved
                                  with the dismissal
of reflective snows

'thirsty things firstly' ;
from the groundswell and sponge
the air is steeped with earth ;
decay to life
Beau Scorgie Apr 2022
Hit after hit
head under water (inebriated)
unable to swim,
I choked,
unsure if by God's hands or my own.
But by God I swallowed it all
then begged for more.

I sank until my feet hit the bottom
stirring the sand around my legs
then upwards.
The ocean floor obscured,
my vision obstructed.
Desperately I swiped
in vain,
and swiped again,
but still the obstruction remained.
And God laughed
and I choked
either by God's hands or mine,
by miracle or design.
Am I Him
or Him me?

Seething with questions
sung and unheard,
then yelled and ignored,
I finally lay myself to rest.
A deep sigh escaping my breast,
I surrendered to rest.

Sleep overcame me
and I dreamt of pearls,
that one day this heaviness
would give birth to pearls.
But alas I awaken
and in my night terror
I had stirred the sand again.
I do not remember.
God let me remember.

I dream of pearls
and of pearls I dream.
Yet still am I to awaken
to this dream.
The sand begins to settle
but the hand stirs again,
never lain to rest,
the obstruction remains.

Sometimes I see glimmers,
gleams and glistens
of the pearls I've only
seen in my dreams.
And by God's hands they gleam
as they always did.
But my hands became rough
from the sand that stirs
and I fear to ever touch,
a pearl,
to ensure that I never
grind her back to sand.
For God shall laugh
and I shall choke.

"Stay sleeping, little one.
Dream of pearl,"
He said.
And deliver He did
oblivion and pearls.
I know this feeling all to well
Waking up liver hurting like hell
So i reach for the bottle
The only thing I know will help
Reach out. There is hope. You can live a normal life again free from your addiction.
JeanT Mar 2022
I hear the screams of profanity in your drunk voice from that night

The beating of your fist against the truck window

My own voice pleading for help

The faint sound of blood dripping onto the hardwood floor from your knuckles

And yet, all you hear is silence

It’s not the Silent Treatment

The tears in my eyes are screaming so loud

But you just can’t hear me
I  didn’t think I would ever be in this situation
jon Nov 2021
I thought everything was clean
Not when you’re a dry drunk
Things aren’t what they seemed
I only desire the calm, live like a monk

I thought everything was okay
Souls all around me, cleansing together
Not with a dry drunk, not today
I don’t know what’s going to happen, how do you capture

I thought I knew what was going on but I’ve fallen
Down in the well, feels like a freezing hell
Sitting there minding my own but the sadness just has to crawl in
Oh, well from what I hear I can’t dwell

I thought you were going to do better
I think a lot of things, most of them not still but racing
I write to you sometimes in my poems that become letters
My heart constantly pacing and my mind repairing itself and tracing

I thought you loved yourself and me
Dry drunk, no role model
I feel like a book falling apart by the seem
You always find yourself at the bottom of a bottle

I thought you had more to offer
And you do, you’re not always the dry drunk
God watches over you and I love her
A sense now of belonging, good luck.
My relationship with my inner self about being a dry drunk and my God is a woman.
Rae Oct 2021
Maybe one day I can tell you how I feel
Maybe one day I can tell you the truth
Maybe one day I can stand up, stare you in the eyes, and tell you how much I hate your shadow
He slurs, he stumbles, he doesn't know his own strength
Maybe I can tell you how he makes me sick, makes me sob, makes me so angry I start to shake and the lump grows and grows in my throat until I scream and tear myself apart on the inside, always the inside
Maybe one day I can tell you about him, your shadow
And then maybe one day you will remember how I hate him so and have it make a difference
I don't care how sorry you are
I do, okay, although I wish not to
But it doesn't matter, does it? It doesn't matter how much you love me, love us, it doesn't matter how much you're grateful for how we put up with him, it doesn't matter if you've tried before
I'm so tired
I'm so tired of being here
Maybe one day,
Maybe I can tell you how much of me wanting to go is his fault, your awful shadow
Maybe if you knew how much I wanted to hate you, how much I wanted to make you hurt, you'd see
But I can't
I can't
I can't stay mad
I can't hurt you
I can't hurt you or your shadow.
Maybe one day I can say the truth, and maybe one day you'll listen.
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