Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
alasia May 2016
I want to get drunk and love you, I want to hold on to you tightly like my grip on a pint, I want my rose coloured glasses to take on a blurry film because you started to shatter my lenses. You're coming through loud and clear and if I don't love you now I fear I never will. So I'll take a swig and pour you a glass chug my ***** with a chase of your body and perhaps all your flaws will become beautiful again. I want to get drunk and let my feelings spill off my tongue until the only way to shut me up is to kiss me. I want to be drunk when you tell me you "love" me, or that I'm "the one", because lies taste sour and the tequilas gone so what's the use. Your bitter affection tastes sweet when it's swallowed after *** and a twisted tea is better than a twisted heart so let's get drunk and fall back in love for a bit, when we wake up hungover we'll wait until we're sober and then we'll fight again. Take my word, you'll need a shot, because when I'm leaving you'll wish I were drunk so I would love you.
Yup.
Birdy Mar 2016
I prefer to lose the grip of me
and my being would traverse
to the brain I made my home in
my little universe

But to lose the touch of this
which I hold so dear
and the only thing which promised me
that would be permanently here

My memory is lacking
and my system is rewriting
my thoughts are the one
which I really should be fighting

I know I know,
You are my friend, dear *****
But I really want to put a stop

A stop to this abuse.
you damaged me more than this alcohol ever could
Spent in New Orleans the bourbon kissed the streets only to find me alone again.

The night was wild and all those I need not mention to those whom truly understand.

We had miles ahead No rest in sight There comes a point being on empty seems like are full on a spring afternoon.

And us alone with are vices kept silent as the effects took there toll and are past memories flooded are thoughts.

Cigarettes and coffee one night stands and other vices stained are existence as the road somehow kept it all clean.

In moments of decay and Saturday night excursions broke are wallets and fueled are thirst.

There were miles ahead so I simply laid my head against the window And blocked it all out for the time being.

Another stop of and a month till I saw that place they tell me is home .
Empty as we run till hell kicks us back.

See you soon postcards and nonexistent phone calls
I'm never here sweetheart and always around .

Don't be sad I can't recognize myself
anymore either.
Lark Train Jan 2016
You were an alcoholic,
And I was just another bottle.

Maybe you won't break
The next bottle you drink from.

I doubt it, though.
You will drink and break until you wobble.

You are an alcoholic,
And I let myself forget it.
Each couplet is a 10 word poem.
Luna Lynn Jan 2016
i probably shouldn't
but i already have
so don't try to stop me now
i don't want to die anyhow
just trying to mask the hurt
it's been two years to the day
i feel no better
i feel no worse
i just know bile gathers in my throat
and tears well up in my eyes
and i still remember the phone call
when they told me you died
oh how i cried
how i still cry
we cry
as a community
you gave us immunity
to the bad
you proved God would prevail
we saw you stumble at times
but never did you fail
a dad
a brother
a friend
why did your life have to end?

and every time this year i can't sleep
just a pile of pillows at my feet
the alcohol just gave me a headache
so i move on to something stronger
as i wait for it to get easier
the night just gets longer
midnight strikes and the day is here
and you're still gone
dead
like a retired song
just when i thought my heart was healed
it's remained broken all along
come on friend
come back and laugh again
hug me like you used to
fill me with that everlasting life
the beauty of you
in this empty void of grievance
in that absence
***** and pills will have to do

i ain't proud, no
but you had to go
and that's okay
i will be alright
i will get through this day
I'm sad as **** right now.

2 years. And it doesn't hurt any less. Miss you my friend. RIP EB.

(C) Maxwell 2016
Brent Kincaid Nov 2015
First, let’s talk about some of the lies
Uttered by the nefarious and unwise
Of a peculiar type of mindless insanity
Created and backed by the inanity
Of the Madison Avenue careerists
And hordes of conspiracy theorists
Who have taken the issue of a ****
And buried it in misconduct and greed.

It is important not to fall for the joke
That it is quite all right to smoke
Because smoking anything you pass
A dose of something called cyanic gas
Into your lungs, and perhaps minimal,
It’s the gas they use to execute criminals.
But, other uses for this homegrown stuff
Can help people whose lives are tough.

But the whole shooting match is a dodge
Started out by rich men in their fancy lodge
Fueled by ignorance and false piety
Written into law by a strangers to sobriety
That somehow had no problem with drinking
But thought being ****** was stinking thinking.
So they created movies and legends galore.
But repression is all the lies were ever for.

(There’s an old joke about a boss’s decree
About employees drinking ***** daily.
He issued the rule on the smell-free *****
That was drunk at lunch time by his crews,
Because he didn’t want customers hazy
Thinking his employees were going crazy.
He preferred they know they were inebriated
Rather than a staff full of the grossly pixilated.)

It was that kind of thinking that created
A fervor that up until today has not abated,
That named an easily grown garden plant
Into some kind of major anti-***** rant,
While opiates are endorsed by the AMA.
And hundreds of versions are here today
To cure the same ailments as cannabis
Without the side effects that are a nemesis.

Medical science is finally ignoring
A sacred cow that needed goring;
Suggesting to the country as a whole
That this simple plant can play a role
In helping those who need relief
And are being criminalized by a belief
That, accompanied with such sadness,
Was the true definition of ****** madness.
Next page