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I don't want to go a
gentle journey,
from convoluted to
I quit drinking again;
found love in
the psych ward.
She's my broken-winged
So much pain behind that
sweet smile.
She's drinking again,
and I can't fix her.
It hurts, like an arrow
through the stomach.

I have a rabbit that comes
to my yard.
She lies in the same
spot every day.
So much so, that
she has worn down a
place for herself--the surrounding
grass grows around her.
She feels safe.
I feed her spinach, and my
brother sings her
show tunes.
That's what we get
for having a drama
teacher for a father.
Thanks, Dad.

It's been an unseasonably
cold April.
I feel sorry for Harvey;
That's her name, thanks
again Dad.
I talk to her softly.
"Hi, baby--what are you doing?
Do you want to come in?"
She doesn't answer.  I'm sober.
I want to take care of her...
Both of them...
My two little bunnies.
It's cold, and the wind is
blowing hard,
beneath a mean grey sky.
Thomas W Case Apr 21
The very thing
I seek for hope
is robbing me of it.
So I drink more;
Surely, this will
do it.
I become more
degradation of the
mind sets in.
I'm sunk in the mud
and despair.
neth jones Mar 19
drowned and round again    
                                 in sick little circles
chopping at the bar
a round                            
                     and drown again    
                                            in little sickle stumbles
                   chopping wise at the bar                    
                                  with your wage crunched
                                   in one mitt
           and your obscenity
           in the other
India Feb 19
I wonder why it took another mans tears for your ears to open to the truth.
Years I’ve spent crying over you,
Getting drunk off the whiskey residue on your skin,
Spinning in and out of your life
Alarmed and dizzy.
A meteorite that never quite hit the mark.

How were you to know you used to be the sun,
That you’d cast us into an ice age?
We will orbit you until there is nothing,
Spinning ourselves into oblivion.

I wrote once that your hands cradled dust,
But that doesn’t do justice the worlds your hands crafted
Or the lives you lived.
A father, first and foremost.
It saddens me I will never know all your children.
I doubt you feel despair that you never knew them either.
m lang Feb 1
my descent into Darkness;
i remember how beautiful It felt.
being swallowed into The Pitiful Abyss
until i was sealed underneath Its surface.
it was pure Bliss.
numbing my emotions,
Its darkness encapsulated my feelings,
keeping them buried out of sight.
falling   diving   sliding
the days grazed into nothingness.
the agony was gone.
It felt wonderful.
there were fires burning above the surface
but no longer were they felt by me,
only others.
It was a beautiful descent.
yet as i slowly began to lose my breath,
Its pain began to to pierce my lungs,
asphyxiating me by means of emotional strangulation.
my unbearable grief fired into my bloodstream,
the effects worse than ******, and without the pleasure.
It's flooding through my veins
as tears endlessly cascaded down my cheeks.
"How did I get here?"
the pain became unavoidable, unbearable.
but how can you become what you already are?
it was then when i realized:
i wasn't sinking into the Abyss,
i was drowning inside of It.
1-31-2022 (i don’t condone drug use and have never done ****** fyi, just a metaphor.)
m lang Feb 1
we've been playing for months, yet
i am no longer the master of my own game.
i sit and wonder, "how did i get here?"
without ever truly questioning myself.
simply because i knew.
it is as though I am currently without a name.
considerably since "This" is no longer Me.
who I am, who That is,
                I am no longer certain.
I have simply become a replica of Its impression on Self.
      "tick tock, tick, tock."
the arrogance of time refuses to stop,
and "now" becomes a fleeting "then"
as My life slips through "Her"
into a dazed, drunken phase.
time only lingers in the present
for those who are truly Present.
Her time is lost, so what is My time
when the days blur together?
"Her" memory sanitized and wiped cleaned.
***** cleans wounds, right?
Dissociation to self,  the insouciant desire to care.
an erratic, chaotic, tumultuous torrential downpour.
I'm theatrical sure, but passionately so.
"Passion," i'll drink to that.
                   "Pain" has me pouring another,
                                                    and another.
"Reward me," and we'll cheers to the clear liquid that
warms my throat with each increasing gulp.
"Relax." you worked hard, take one or two.
              Six deep, Seven's the magic number,
                          plus, what's one more?

yet one will never be enough.    "sleep or shoot."
                            don't forget to swallow.
                            you know you love it.

stop saying no when You can say "yes,"
and stop holding back, when I'm telling You "NO."

                         stop fighting...
                                      ­ccumb to the misery.
 besides, just one pour will make it all better.
Nigdaw Jan 16
second sight alternate mind
sliding down the slippery *****
chasing a rabbit into fantasyland
the world is the same but changed
this drink is full of laughter
this drink makes everything strange
and why am I here you may ask
as I refill my already refilled glass
to find myself of course
I've looked everywhere else
and this is the only place I exist
at the bottom of a bottle
sailing close to the abyss
I am alive tingling inside
and I know he is waiting
on the hangover side, but
I'll let him deal with it **** it up
while I just crawl away to Hyde
until he is again enticed
to walk away from his Jekyllite life
we're all inmates so what's your poison
prisoners here in alcoholism
SF Couture Dec 2021
Surrounded by empty parts of a forgotten past
Chasing myself around to end up in the same place as last
I spiral all night on a bed beaten by time and mistakes
Just to sleep in segments of new horror in a different time of space

Helplessly in love with the possibility that you may impossibly have what I'm looking for

Hounded by remedy crooks with cold coffee and platitudes

Abandoned by the church of the broken, to fall back into poisonous loving arms

Now I'm talking to the walls and crying with the windows
Spinning with the ceiling and alone in our bedroom
Remembering the promises made in a 101 proof haze
Living on borrowed time remembering yesterdays
The story of an addict spiraling down alone in the bedroom that was once shared
-inspired by the Willie Nelson song
Dakota J Dawson Nov 2021
Given in
No more

To think
I'm redeemed
A fault

Forgivness is
Laced unto
Selfish pity
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