She said .
"It's me or the bottle *******"!

I admired the view of  the door as it smacked her on the *** .
She hit the road and me I simply hit the bar .

Played some songs on the jukebox and didn't say a word to the folks around me .

Drank till I passed out and realized the **** storm I was in the very next morning .

She was gone and I was left here alone.

Without wheels and only a lone beer in the fridge .

Well no one ever claimed I was smart .

I wonder if she could turn round somewhere in Kentucky .
Pick me up a bottle then bring that pretty little *** back meet with a smile at the door.

Run into these open arms .

Embrace those lips and face those tears .


Then sit her down hand her the money and take my bottle and
tell her thanks before I slam the door in her face .

Whiskey heals all wounds .

And as for you my dear have a safe trip .

Sincerely


John

some people float
they float like boats over the reoccurring waves in the silent ocean
they float like burning paper when it escapes the fire and the wind carries it into the night sky
i love that view
if you’ve downed a few bottles it almost looks like it’s dancing
a fiery flame that whips and dips and twirls
i could follow it until it burned to ash
floating, disappearing

i do not drink to forget
i drink to float
i love the feeling of being lost in a blurry night sky that’s glowing with fire light
the warmth of the heat
the smell of the fire and ***** and nature all mixed into one
the taste of the drinks as they get unrecognizable with each sip
the feeling of being there but also being elsewhere
floating
i need that escape when things become overwhelming
floating
laughing, watching, disappearing
f        l
                    o
                             a
                                        t         i
                                                             n
                                                                      g.

How can we get a cold in the summer?
90 degrees isn't warm enough to prevent it?
I know the logistics, heat doesn't cure a cold,
and yet there is something odd about getting a cold in the midst of July.

It may be worse in the summer.
The shivers matched with heat waves,
from either the illness or a faulty AC unit.
I don't want to miss the beach, but the thought of wearing anything less than my sweatsuit is nauseating.

How can we get a cold in the summer?
The sun is filled with vitamin D,
the vitamin of illness prevention.
Why am I buying tissues and cough drops,
and not margaritas and shrimp.
I can't even eat shrimp,
I'm allergic.
Although, that may be better than a cold in the midst of July.

I can hold it together sober,
But the alcohol brings out the best and the worst in me
The hopeless poet, the jealous *****,
The miserable, lost child.
****, the taste of red wine on my lips,
As they run down your body
and ****, the burn in my throat.
****, the way the mirror image shifts left to right.
Holding on to the wall with one arm
And holding up my life with all my might.
****, ***** and boys, liquor and love.
**** it all.

new shoes and late night blues
drinking ***** listening to views
getting 'dude' as a tattoo
i'm never getting over u

middle of may and it's all the same
life's a game that i can't play
i'm runnin' late at airport gates
i never thought i'd miss my plane

Slats and slits.
Lights shimmer, gathering on the coffee cup revealing a pattern of circular tide marks.

Grates and grit.
Shadows under eyes, creating a weathered haggard stormy expression.

Belly rumble

                       Shakes

                                  Greyed skin

                     Eye lash crust

Illustrate me...

Too **** drunk to play

I fell into a bottle
Four Presidents ago
looking for the hidden song
Just before a show

Once I thought I found it
I was in about half way
When I took the stage I found out
I was far too drunk to play

Every bottle has a song
somewhere deep inside
I haven't found one yet though
but, ****...i know I've tried

Each line upon my weary face
And scar upon my fingers
is the end result of searching for
the song that always lingers

If it isn't in one bottle
in the next it may be there
so for now, i'll just keep searching
for the song that isn't there

there's songs in other places too
too dark for me to go
some find songs inside a needle
those aren't songs I want to know

I come by my songs honestly
my scars show I've looked deep
But, when I'm almost there and see it
That's kinda when I fall asleep

when I'm sober, I can't find them
once I'm drinking, then I hear
The song calling from a bottle
I'm like an alcoholic seer

I know I'll find the right one
And it just may be today
I only hope I find it
Before I'm too **** drunk to play

I only hope I find it
Before I'm too **** drunk to play

Barkeep....another
Without ice
A double whiskey
It goes down nice
Feel the fire
That gentle heat
Barkeep...another
And keep it neat

A shot of whiskey
It's warm
not hot
You feel the fire
The bunring linger
Feel the fire
From one shot

You start out drinking
To **** the pain
You order one more up
Barkeep...again
The burning feeling
Inside your chest
You're still coherent
You're at you best

Time...it passes
Years go by
The fire's burning
You're gonna die
That burning feeling
Can't put it out
You move from whiskey
On back to stout

You can not stop it
The fire rules
Your eye's are red now
Red, runny pools
What once was pleasant
Now burns with pain
You can not stop it
Barkeep...again

You keep consuming
It's who you are
Half a bottle gone
You've gone too far
You can not taste it
You can not win
You can not put out
The Fire Within.

you are all infinite
you, my children of the night
pagan wanderers on destinies lips
patrons of the streets, lonely, empty, wanting
I seen a generation fall
I seen a generation crumble
and be reborn.
You my midnight sorcerers on deaths hitlist
listless and searching
I seen the dance of a power divide
Ego denied, angry id, broken steps
steps
steps
steps
we walk steps in the open,
we talked talks of confession to the night
it held us, comforted us
We the unwanted zombies
of unheard promises and dysfunctional rational
you are all beautiful
undaunted by the lines
the crooked lines, cut mishapen, disater mishappen
Cheers to my world, my surrounding reality
scared and scarred by tomorrow
tomorrow
tomorrow
tomorrow
My vagabond lies, my homeless truths
You, my enormous, analytical algorythms of disobedience
of disorder, of chaos
Musicians playing perpetual reqiuems
Jazz of the dead, jazz of the wanderer, jazz of the beautiful
Show your hand, yell your claim
stake your play.
concrete mazes, blinding buildings, urban solitute
I have found you, I have seen you,
you poets of denial, poets of disaster
Prose of temptation
Words of lament
Speak to me my children of the perpetual night
My children of music, of poetry, of paintings telling me the broken down minds, the sacrificed
economy of love
I am lost in these streets
I am at home in the unknown
I am nothing but a dream, denied
We are together
all together, here, here and now
Lost together
Crowded solitude
Lets be solidified as one
You, my children are emptied of being full
full of unknown, full of yourselves and filled with *****
Drunken stories of lullabies lost
Pour me another, make it a double. doubled down truth
hit me
Cigarette stained finger tips
Plucked tense strings,
Strings so tense you could feel their vibration
We sit, listening, ears pointed at God,
Waiting to be lulled into compliance
I have seen your cigarette stained
Finger tips
Pluck strings of lament and prophecy
Sing me into your future
Oh beautiful melody
Oh wandering progressions
Telling tales of my transgressions
Oh trusty chords
Lovers speak only lies,
With cigarette gently sleeping between exhausted lips
Let us lie here
Here in this desolate desert moonscape
Forlorn homeless shelter
New antiqued flashood of home
I have seen us staring
Staring into the void,
Into the fullness of emptiness
These are not just dreams
Fevered and sweating out the ingested fungus
They are the dystopian dreams of
Every young adult novel
Of every science fiction, battered, back pocket edition
Dog eared, notes in the margins, yellowed with love, book.
They are the lost bibles of us,
Of our current histories and our future stories.
My friends
Gathered, exuberant, broken and shattered
Passing time on the the stools of inebriation
Come forth and be counted
The artist hang burnt offering from crimson skies
Sacrifices of the soul
Sacrifices of humanity
Exercises of humility
Stand here before me and and be chastised
A public flogging, a private shaming
A social satired informal gathering
Gaining peer reviewed synthetically blended praise
The dab hazed hipsters
Losing time,
faking time,
Cutting lines, sparking fires inside
Burn
Burn
Burn
Lose me in the iridescent, fill me in with acrylic
Wash me out with acid and cry-
Cry over me, cry with me
I am nothing, and we are everything.