Hello Poetry raises money by advertising to passing readers like yourself.
If you're into poetry and people who're into poetry, join the community to remove ads and share your poetry. It's totally free.
Hello Poetry raises money by advertising to passing readers like yourself.
If you're into poetry and people who're into poetry, join the community to remove ads and share your poetry. It's totally free.
Thank the maker
there is a cork
in my wine bottle
I have more to drink

Don't spill it
Alcohol abuse
Dinnk every god dam drop!
Down the hatch!

Why does she do this?
I am just being myself
She said she loves me
For being myself

I finally find an outlet
To express my hidden soul
Then she hides hers
The truth exposed

My head’s filled with glass,
as the sunlight streams in.
My mouth’s like the desert,
as I groan “never again”.

I fight to sit up,
and my stomach protests.
I swallow back vomit,
and it’s almost a success.

I sprint to the bathroom,
and flick on the light,
barely making the toilet,
as the tears blur my sight.

Now I stare in the mirror,
through bloodshot eyes,
splashing water on my face,
as I try not to cry.

Today will be different,
I promise myself.
No drinking today,
the bottle stays on the shelf.


The aspirin has helped,
along with the food.
Just one beer with lunch,
to lighten the mood.

Besides, says my brain,
you’re more normal this way.
It’ll help you relax,
so just have one, whatcha say?

The beers took the edge off,
and now I’m more fun.
I’ll just take one shot,
just one, then I’m done.


The room won’t stop spinning,
and the bottle’s all gone.
My hand is bleeding,
what the hell’s going on?

I stumble off walls,
trying to stay on my feet.
I finally fall into bed,
now, rinse and repeat.
An old poem I found today
Another rough day,
The wine glasses sing to me:
"Fill me up my dear!"
Terrible fear left a tender chest to burst,
So I spiralled down in darkness again
I self-medicate with insatiable thirst;
Far too often do I fail to abstain
There’s an infinite extent of foolish fears,
On the endless path of the lonely heart
I wash my face in a salty stream of tears,
And return myself to a sombre start
With poison I water a desert of drought;
I pray that my remedy will arrive
Many a bottle have I frequently bought,
In order to cope with being alive
     Destructive forces are launching a war,
     That plunges my confidence to the floor
J Walt Sep 7
Change in my pocket,
but no charge in the socket.
That’s where I use to be.
       ­                                                       lost
in a world that wasn’t mine.
Committing sin and crime,
more than this poems rhyme.
Never did I wish to be
                                        minus 6 feet in pine.
At least,
          that’s the lie I’ll stick by.
Hurt every morning. Every night I then cry.
                                                            ­                     Yet,
back at it again in the AM.
Liquor was certainly quicker and I never
                                                           ­   lost
                                                         ­     my
                                                         ­     buzz,
but thank Godness it was,
because much longer and I would’ve lost my cause.
It was more than shaking paws.
          And, alcohol was my master.
Physically, I always drank faster.
Mentally, there was too much cluster
self-pity and self-inflicted misery.

I far surpassed being a dick.
Pushed away even the biggest prick.
Funny now,
                       but then. No then.
                                                        On the binge, waking up smelling
                                                        of Monarch in the park.
                                  Just the thought makes me cringe.
        ­                                   bottom.
                                                     I went through it.
You name it, I’ve done it.
                                Peed my pants in a jail pit.
                                Struck my bestfriend with my mit.
­                                Cheated, lied, and stole way more than a little bit.
­                                Treated girls by the ease of their clit.
Not once, did I think to quit.
Nor, did I think I was fit
                                            to be a respectable man.
But, this life? This current life, was not my plan.
                        This. This is someone else’s hand.
                        This is metanoia.
                                                       ­      With it,
                                                                ­       no more paranoia.
No longer am I better or worse than.
Today, I just am.
I have a god I understand.
I’ve made amends to the fam.
I’ve seen my brother’s band.
I don’t isolate like a clam.
I’ve passed my graduate exam.
I fall asleep without spinning like a fan.
And, this story,
                             I promise
                                         is no scam.

♫♪I believe in miracles♫♪,
              I’m a sexy thing.
A girl even accepted my ring,
And I’ll admit,
I’m not perfect.
And as you heard,
I can’t sing.
But today,
I do the next right thing.
           to help others
                                   learn to be brothers,
                                              respect people of all colors,
                                                        ­  and to tolerate (yes! tolerate)
                                                       ­                              even their mothers.
My life is second to none, I finally found fun, and by grace
hopefully, I’m not done.
My acceptance is high and my expectations low.
Today, I even try not to steal the show.
        with this flow
I think I’ve found my cause
and that’s
to hear your applause.
J Walt
I prefer this poem as spoken word, it truly captures my story here. For those interested Metanoia is an ancient Greek word meaning "changing one's mind" and is often define as change in one's way of life resulting from penitence or spiritual conversion or a transformative change of heart; especially a spiritual conversion.
The magical potion that once momentarily erased my pain,
has come to collect its dues,
Desperately trying to scratch out of a body that refuses to acknowledge you're going insane
I lay tormented with nightmares,trembling hands, hallucinations, nausea and fear in all its hues,
Fully aware that I will be trapped not knowing the difference between reality and imagination again,
Yet somehow I convince myself that one more night of alcohol is what I could use
Alcohol withdrawal is very real. So are the nightmares.
Cody Henatt Aug 31
I change each year just a little,
Shedding the skin I grew to know.
That's part of growing up,
You reap what you sow.

I have freedom now,
But I miss the structure of the past.
Does that make me weak,
To want something to last?

Things look different to me, now,
The world shifting around me.
I recognize none of this,
And yet memories only make me bleed.

Is it wrong to miss the chaos?
Is it wrong to want to go back?
I grew up in fear,
I was always under attack,

I'm not sure how to exist without the chaos.
I don't know how to make it through.
I used to have dreams, plans,
But deep down I knew.

This was my fate all along.
To forget myself at last.
Everything has fallen apart;
Turned to shattered glass.
Sometimes I think
about pouring the rest of the bottle
down the goddamn kitchen sink.
You know that I have done it before,
even though it was mine,
not yours.

What stops me?
The fear, always.
I learned to freeze, not to flee
so we are stuck here,
you, in your drunken haze
sometimes, drunken rage
and me
still, but crying
still, but seething
not speaking.

You'll be the one emptying the bottle
drink by drink
and I'll be the one
returning to the ink,
trying to distract myself from the fact
that I am on the brink.
Soon it will be time to thaw, time to act
but tonight I don't feel brave enough
so the liquour will stay in the bottle,
until you drink it all up.
It's so lonely.
Madison Aug 17
Staying still
I try to drain
Every last
Little drop.
Tilting back, I
Grip the neck but
Don't break it, God forbid
I'm in no shape to clean up a mess
Though I'm an expert at making them,
I tell you what, I hate the television, all
those shiny happy people like in that
song I don't know the words to, but it's
obviously true, watching these shiny
happy lives with all of these beautiful
people who are probably ugly on the
inside, just like me, going home to sit
in their expensive new recliners and
grip the neck but don't break it, don't
make a mess that you can't clean up
drain every last drop even if you don't
really want it, 'cause it used to make
you feel much better, and now it's just
routine, like brushing your teeth and
trying to sleep and telling old friends
that you're fine, fine, just tired, so very
tired and I'm trying to stare through the
television to see these stupid phonies at
home in their own chairs, drinking from
a bottle like this one as if it might save
their sorry lives, like I'm trying to do
right now, tilting it back for just one
more drop, dammit there is no more
and I'm not done drinking but the neck
is slipping from my hands and I'm trying
to drink it down, suck it up when I let go
of the neck and drop it and there is a mess
for me to clean up, I tell you what, all that
broken glass and those elusive little drops
that could've made everything so much better,
could've fixed me but oh well, guess I can't
watch TV anymore, 'cause I've got a mess to
try to clean up right now, yes siree, guess
that even the shiny happy people have to
suck it up and fix it every now and then
just like me and you and everyone else.
My first attempt at shape poetry. Probably messed up a bit, but oh well.
MaryJane Doe Aug 16
Withdrawal thy toe
From the deep end an see
Just how much
You've abandoned me

Thy hours are eternity
Without a drop to drink
Quite a lonely life for me
Watching dead men sink

A shame
Our love
Is not enough
To withdrawal
These Dependencies

A conflict in progression
My apologies
Done with regression
In harmfull times as these
Feeling worthless
And worth less
Than a drop of vile drink
Just had to get some stress from my chest. I'm missing my father more than ever these days. As my life has become a sad re-run of the past.
Next page