For the longest time
I've had this romanticized view of lonesome drinking
I picture someone slowly zippin on a drink
and smoking sophistically
in a dull light
while writing great poetry

But when I've finished my 12th beer
and my 28th cigarette
in a dull light
And the only thing I've written
is something ****** like this

that romantic view is dead

Still I know
that tomorrow
Once my hangover is gone
I will do it all over again

when you finally
hit rock bottom
you won't see me
when you look up
one more chance
one more hope
another play as your savior

you won't see me
because i was the only one
who tried to prevent
your fall

i’m wearing malbec lipstick at 330 in the afternoon, my own personal hue that stains lips and teeth, drips down my chin so a tongue flicks out to savor the drop. it leaves a maroon trace like i’ve been ******* blood.
when i swill the wine, it captivates me. like i'm swishing around my own blood, praying enough of it sloshes out to **** me.
i’m headed to catholic church in an hour, maybe i’ll light a candle for myself.
god knows i ******* need it.
i’m at that delicate lining, the in-between stage of the five stages of grief. the soft spot at the base of my skull. self-destruct button that’s so tempting, nestled between anger and depression. skip bargaining. take a trip around the sun.
i've lost my hair tie and i want it back.
i've lost my heart and i want it back. ******* give it back.
reapply mauve lipstick the flavor of malbec. go to church. rinse the good off when you get home.
i still feel him inside of me. taking everything. claiming it as his own, two hundred and fifty-eight hours later. like he’s stained me and now i'm tainted and unapproachable. undesirable.
piece of plastic wrap that used to keep his heart fresh, now i'm trash.
now i’m his.

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?

Stuck in a drinking rut
On a two week ******
Well actually
It's more like two decades
But I had to work the night shift
January 11th

Today I realized you can’t stop someone who likes the feeling of the burning taste in their throats
You can't decide for them whether they fix themselves or they destroy themselves.
It will always be a battle to the end,
the worst part is that you know one of these days the world is going to stop for me,
my heart is going to break
and You will have left me cold,
maybe yet I may even take your path
and I may like the burning sensation to wash those pills down
or to forget about the world for a few moments just to crash back into reality.
But one day, Ill lose you,
Mom
. One day you won't be mine to hug or to hold anymore.
As long as you enjoyed your last drink more than you enjoyed your time here with me,
then I hope you had the best few last moments in the blur then you ever did seeing me
smile.
Mom, I love you,
I always will, but
you don't live forever.

Your Breath
        bitter with alcohol
Your Words
        slurred without thought
You Don't Remember
        you never do
Why Don't You Join Your Family
        i guess the bottle is more comforting

The barrier of poison and ****
                    You're better than us
                   A metal chassis of rust
                                           Anonymous.
This and that and jist and just
                     An abyss full of fuss
                                   No love or lust
                                            Anonymous.
Cease to speak or discuss
                    A might or a must
                         The empty pie crust
                                             Anonymous.
Preference to throw or ******
                       Detest and disgust
                         To cry or get crushed
                                             Anonymous.

You want me to believe that this world is complete, delicate, special.
But how can I believe such a thing when nothing is being done to the children and adults who get abused and neglected?
How can I believe that this world is protective when the police system did nothing about a **** situation of a 6 year old girl?
How can I believe that this world is complete when we can't even be different without being judged?
How can I believe that this world is special when there's still so much wrong with it?
How can we see the world as such a thankful life when we can't even go out on the front porch to play without someone shooting accusations at our mind; making us think this world is perfect when in a real reality... it's not.

There's still poverty and blood shed of innocent victims because we pick the wrong people to "protect" us.
There's still so much to learn even if we can't see what the future may hold.

Ask me...
Ask me how my life is.
What has happened in my life?
So many things I wish I forget.

There's the alcoholic father:
The one who lets his daughter sip his beer to get "enjoyment".

There's the missing mother:
The one who never fought for her daughter and never looked for her.

Then there's the sister:
The one that would make people happy; was always a joy to be around but everything changed when she was gone.

At age 4 there was a little girl who wanted everything: a happy family, a fun life, protective brothers but that girl got the complete opposite.
Age 5:
Age 6: *****
Age 7, age 8, age 9
Age 10: Depression
11: Depression
12: Anxiety and depression
13: Anxiety and courage
14: Panic
15: Depression, anxiety, panic
16...

Age 13 was the year the girl finally told her sister-in-law about the **** her brother did. Only 3 people believed her.
Not her father, not her father's girlfriend, not her 3 brothers, not the police.
She was alone.
She tore and ripped through her anxiety like it was nothing to achieve absolutely... nothing.

There's a woman trying to get a boy into her car while he screams, "You can't make me!"
There's a man forcing a woman to have *** after 3 times that morning and she says, "You can't make me!"
There's a little girl being abused by her father when he said, "**** yourself."

That girl slipped through his hands and past his heart while the knife hit hers, and she whispered her last words to the alcohol running along her father's lips and the cheek he pressed against hers while he forced things upon her all done by laying in the hospital bed whenever she had come to see him. She silently took her last breathe with the words, "Daddy, you made me do this."