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maria 11h
empty feelings didn't make it to the list but they could.

Written on October 20, 2019
clever Aug 19
i drink cause i keep it bottled up
and another. and another.
Osiria Melody Jul 11
Even the most laughiest jokes don't make her crack a smile
Another bottle burst open
She pours her emotions into a glass,
Downing the sleepiest concoction of death (Alcohol kills slowly)

Even the most handsomeiest of men don't make her eyes smile
Another shot at romance burst
She pours her emotions into a glass,
Downing the sleepiest concoction of death
(Alcohol floods her senses)

Even the most wonderfuliest of people don't make her confidence smile
Another chance at personal growth burst
She pours her emotions into a glass,
Downing the sleepiest concoction of death
(Alcohol made her callous)

Callous, desensitized, angry
Angry at the world for leaving her to clean up the mess that she didn't make
Angry at the world of leaving her to clear the wrong paths that she didn't want to take
Bottles don't listen, only supply temporary relief

inspiration loosely drawn from reading a web comic about a drunk character.
Invisible Jul 1
I'll keep the bodies in boxes
I'll keep the emotions in bottles
They're bound to be found,
One day.
Until then I'll hide them.
Keep them safe.
In case if I need them later.
But the bottles will crack.
They'll be found.
They'll be seen.
Loud and clear.
Like, little bursts of explosions,
And no explosion is ever good.
I write poems about the thoughts
and I draw flowers from the scars
I turn bottles into vases
I call this damage art

I send the feelings to the hole
where used to lay my  heart
so I can pretend
me and my "problems" are a world apart

I know these thoughts do not rhyme
and on my skin, the scars will lie
i know to hold all these bottles is not wanting to say goodbye
i know this damage is real
but then so is this art
so I will continue to write
as it tears me apart
arian Mar 3
i drowned myself in sorrow just to talk to you
but you were quiet.
anything hurts less than the quiet.
Cody Cooke Feb 7
Bottles of alcohol squat on the counter, and cigarette butts
like yellow dead June bugs on the floor.
Bottles of shimmering reasons to not care about a hangover,
to leave prom early and rejoice in your parent’s absence.
Glistening necks, elegant glass nubs with no cap
tipped up into mouths screaming proud and hoarse,
our ***** voices breaking under the radio sound
to a loud song whose generation no longer cares.
But we do, dumb boys and girls in a truck, rolling around town
like Haylee’s bottle of Jack Daniels in the trunk—
aimless, optimistic, and looking for reasons, so
buy a pack at the Chevron and let’s go smoke!
That’s enough, after all, isn’t it?
Reason enough to crack the windows, find a Carlyss backroad,
waste away midnight and half a tank of gas.
Still, as I drive on, a 90s rock station stimulating rotation of the spliff,
that smell puts my mind out of guitar solos and into placid hallways,
Smells Like a night in my dad’s apartment,
the stubbly couch with the nicotine blanket,
the Marlboro tone in the air, concrete crumbs and a lighter’s grating chrrt.
Divorce sounds like alcohol—
a word that burns, something sterilizing and for adults only.
But I don’t care, it’s my turn on the spliff,
and the backseat of my truck sounds more Alive
than the old horror movie rentals he would put on.
And why should I worry about what sobriety means
when we’ve been planning this night for months now?
All stocked up on Bacardi and Smirnoff Ice, Captain Morgan’s, Svedka, Mike’s Hard,
Swisher Sweets wrapped up in the **** bag—
We shoot our ***, soldiers eager to start the war,
that war against a domestic unknown enemy,
an enemy dangerous and subversive, like sober-minded aspirations.
And while Zack rolls the blunt, while Jack finds his Camel pack,
while you ask for a hit of Haylee’s cigarette,
I fill a glass with water, my intention to hydrate
exactly as genuine as my intention to forget about it.
Johnny walker Dec 2018
Christmas day 00:35 as usual awoken by pain
not going to complain about the pain that just
something I have to put with
Been told only get worse, anyway It's going to be
one "Hell" of a long day but after today's over
Got some "Bucks Fizz" I no not really a man's drink but
I love It, so I'll break open a couple of bottles then It hibernates for the rest of Christmas
In my dreams of Helen warm and snug under my blankets who could wish for more so It "Sweet Dreams" to one and all
Christmas all wrapped up Me a couple bottles of Bucks Fizz wrapped up In my warm blankets then It's of dreaming with Helen Sweet Dreams yo one and all
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