James Khan Jun 14
the cityscape delineates,

becomes a blur through gilded glass

and as the ice evaporates,

the cityscape delineates,

the florid fusion fascinates,

as metamorphic minutes pass

the cityscape delineates,

becomes a blur through gilded glass,



as metamorphic minutes pass

emotions blend like pastel paint,

coherent thought remains impasse

as metamorphic minutes pass

the vista now is shades, en masse,

amorphous greys with lurid taint,

as metamorphic minutes pass

emotions blend like pastel paint,



amorphous greys with lurid taint,

the view through whiskey-tumbler eyes,

the city's outline faded faint,

amorphous greys with lurid taint,

a bitter loss to self-restraint

when all the worldly ways comprise

amorphous greys with lurid taint,

the view through whiskey-tumbler eyes.
Triple triolet form
Jo Barber Jun 3
Tastes good, doesn't it?
The fire burns your throat
as you chug a shot down.
The taste ain't sweet,
but the feeling sure is.
The drunker you get,
the higher you float.

"Can life always feel this good?"
The answer's no,
but you refuse to accept it.
HB Profound Jun 2
One more for the road
And then another
It's ok I'll get the next train home mate
I'm fine stop acting like my mother

Is it my round again?
Must be think my mates have pissed off
It's going be a cheap one
Then I'll takeoff

Whoops it's 3 am
Time for a quick beer and a shot
Why won't you serve me?
Ok no shot last one I promise, jackpot

Stumbling out
Oi get your hands off me
Fucking bouncers
I'll just rest a minute under a tree

6 am head pounding
Phone on the blink
Think I slept in dog shit
Oh well must be time for a drink
bob May 29
With Closed eyes and a grim face
Imposed lies paint a dim place
Dark and hollow with nothing around
Go ahead and scream you'll never be found
Keep going further down to your dismay
This shits just beginning for sure it's just may
Etch up a symbol a portrait of hope
Catch up be nimble, forget about the slope
Hear the voices screaming in the night
Wake up you're dreaming, but everything's not alright
Blur out her memory one drink should do
Slur down what went wrong better yet make it two
Dig deeper into a false sense of relief
Tell yourself it didn't happen, I mean it's your own belief
Go on another liquor drenched bender
Talking to shadows, trying not to remember
You said you loved her, when was that? December.
4 years is a long time to be near
4 beers is a song, a chime to be clear
A melody to sooth and erase
But still you find yourself leading this chase?
Fuck if only you could forget her face
Close your eyes and drift off into sadness
Hearing the voices call in the madness
Still you'll sit just all alone
This darkness now is your "humble abode"
With no way out you soon decide
Contemplating the thought of suicide
The reality of all that was lost
All comes clear but at what cost
Now all thoughts and ambitions are tossed
Trapped in the dim dark place you come to know
You'll never get out you'll never just go
To forget her would be the key
To forget her is the lesson you see
There's no fixing or mending
No wishing or commending
It's just you and your thoughts in the dim to be
you
weaken the heart
you let them in,

weaken
your careful mind
you let Them in.
Christina O May 12
A genius of the mind,
he writes with all the passion in the world.
Stories untold,
a masterpiece in the making.
But behind the paper a darkness shows.
His mind won't rest no matter how hard he tries.
And everything around spins out of control.
One moment is all it takes until he comes crumbling to the ground.
The high is there,
and suddenly it turns to anger,
then scared the next.
He falls apart,
hoping someone will pull him together again
before it comes to the point he can never return.

She's a dreamer,
high hopes,
and the world her oyster.
But behind her mask she holds a bruise,
too painful to show.
She isn't who you think she is,
the sparkle and high society nightmare don't reveal her truth.
Inside she's lonely and scared,
not quite sure of what she wants to be.
So she opens a bottle,
and drowns her sorrows,
mumbling every lie that was told to her face.
If only she could stop.
But she can't.
She's in too deep,
the bottle stuck like glue.

Two different stories,
two different people.
Some say they're crazy.
One minute up,
the next down.
But in the midst of healing,
she finds him,
a friend in the making.
And in a way he gets her.
Those lonely thoughts in her mind,
he knows all too well.
And even when he breaks down,
spirals out of control,
she's there without judgment.
He doesn't have to pretend,
and neither does she.
Though they are definitely not lovers,
they share so much,
and of course they have other friends who care.
But it's the silent understanding between them
that make this friendship extra special.
About a friendship that came out of an unexpected turn. Two people who never thought they could be just what the other needed.
Christina O May 12
Two bottles,
one for you and one for me.
The pain seems to magically end,
but one is only a disguise,
and the other leaves me dry.

Two bottles,
One become the problem,
and the other seemingly fixes the underlying cause.
But in no way do either cure the things we have.

Two bottles,
and it's hard to stay away.
We don't want to be this way,
but it's who we've become,
and who we have to deal with.
Like some roll of the dice we were dealt with these odds.

Why us?
I don't know.

But maybe we can fight this.
You can throw away your bottle,
and I'll keep taking mine.
Maybe together,
we'll finally win.
This is about two friends who deal with two different things to cope with what is going on in their lives. One drinks to numb the pain of the past and the other has Bipolar Disorder and is living with regrets of yesterday.. Though both are dealing in different ways, they both have mental health issues.
Next time I hope you bite your tongue
To save you from making yourself look like a fool
Because I wasn't the one to drink my self stupid tonight
I wasn't the one to ignore my child's problem for an overpriced drink
No, I'm sorry can you hold
Your hands
Cause all my life
I was told never bite the hand that feeds
But the thing is that was never the case
You don't feed
Your hands are to busy
Sending messages that make no sense
Incoherent
To busy flicking a light to pollute the lungs
To busy cracking a can to poison your
Liver
No your hands  were too busy to feed
Because while I was alone hopeless and crying because a  illness in which you neglect
You were out drinking and celebrating
"Hey we made it to today, now let's poison ourselves more"
See your freshly polished fingernails
And heavy ice wrist
Weren't made for feeding
So I'll bite your hands
Because there always busy doing something that doesn't involve me
Your child
Your only daughter
I am the one who locks myself in my room
I am the one who cries and thinks
"I'm not enough, I'll never be enought"
While you drink
And you smoke
And to put it simply
While you make your insides rot faster
No your hands were to busy trying to care for yourself
Your lousy self
Now your hungover and those small sounds I make
Make you scream and shout
"Shut up, be quite"
I'm sorry I haven't ate all day to busy chasing thoughts that swarm in my head
"It's not my fault you don't eat"
Really, cause I see that Chinese two boxes, none for me
Yet here I am trying to eat
I'm sorry I'm a basic fucking human being
Who needs shit like shelter and food
Just to fucking live
And your to busy supporting bad habits to even
Provide basic shit for me
And to me
An alcoholic doesn't exist
At least not with parents
An alcoholic is a person who's love for alcohol stems far greater than the love for their child.
IamThatGirl May 4
My life would be so much better, if you just dropped dead,
because staring into your eyes makes me see red,
for all that you have done,
and all the hurt that you have caused,
you would think the beating would be the worst,
but its always the words that hit the hardest,
and its not like I had a helping father,

living in a middle class house,
driving in a middle class car,
my mother sat the bar,
and she raised it up too far,

so everything was to look perfect,
I was supposed to smile,
I was supposed to make it worth it,
I was supposed to be perfect,

so what happens next,
Its not like I passed all her test,
I passed none,
i was to much and she was too strong,

I still feel her beatings on my face,
but that´s not what ended me up in this place,
because her words hit the hardest,
she said she regretted the adoption,
and with every second the words always hit harder,

because I tried my very best to be perfect,
but with insomnia, ADHD, Asperger and more,
it was like glass shattered beneath my feet with each step,
and all I ever wanted was to be like the rest.
Tell me what it means to be a family. Tell me about dinners around the table and christmas cards. Tell me about how on Sunday morning you’ll all pile into the car and go to church together. Tell me about how your parents bought your car. Tell me about how your mom writes a check for lunch money. Tell me about New Year's parties. Tell me about summer camping trips and barbecues. Tell me about how bright the stars shine from grandma’s house. Tell me about grocery lists and chores. Tell me about your normal lives with your normal houses and your normal cars. Tell me that someday my kids will go to school and be as normal as you. Tell me that someday my future will look like yours.Tell me about knowing how to be happy. Tell me about having money. Tell me about having parents who went to college. Tell me about about never having a reason to cry or feel alone. Tell me about hope.
Cause I can’t.
What I can tell you is why I’m terrified of alcohol. I can tell you about late nights crying in my room as my parents screamed at each other. I can tell you about Christmases with no gifts. I can tell you about sitting in a room surrounded by a language that felt heavy and full of danger despite that fact I’ve spoken it all my life. I can tell you about choking on the smell of cigarettes. I can tell you about red eyes and the scent of skunk. I can tell you about being terrified to cry because if I don’t stop crying then I’ll be given something to cry about. I can tell you about dark closets. I can tell you about the look of disgust in my father's eyes because I like girls too sometimes. I can tell you about how the police know my face but I don’t exist on record because my sister and I look very similar. I can tell you about my family’s inability to commit to anything. I can tell you about letting everything build up to the point that I’m crying in my bedroom alone because I don’t know the answer to a question on my college application and it’s 3 am.
I can also tell you about how much patience my friends have for me. About how I always have someone to call at 3 am to figure out when the heck I’m supposed to graduate. About how having someone tell you they love you and finally feeling comfortable to know that they’re not lying to you. About having friends who are honest enough to tell you to stop acting like a 13 year old girl, put on your big girl pants and be happy. About how amazing it felt to realize after 17 years that I am allowed to be happy, even when others aren’t. About a group of friends that always have a hug and kinds words ready. About a love that makes me wonder how I lived without knowing it exists. About how it took ten years but I’ve finally found the light at the end of the tunnel.
So tell me of a life where everything is perfect and mom and dad still love each other...or maybe not. Maybe I’ll live on to see that perfect life and I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise. Maybe, just maybe I’ll find that I’m already living my perfect life. That’d be a fun surprise.
My boyfriend was telling me about his family vacations and some childhood memories and I just realized that I couldn't relate to them very well.
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