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arian Mar 2019
i drowned myself in sorrow just to talk to you
but you were quiet.
anything hurts less than the quiet.
Cody Cooke Feb 2019
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.
I have kissed boys


People in between

But lately I have been kissing bottles

Their lips are colder than yours

But slowly I have realized that the pounding headache when I wake is less hurtful than the shattering in my chest

Yet as these toxins rush through my veins

I can't help but miss the tracing of your fingers along my skin

Miss the numbness of the world when you lie with me

But when I wake I remember that a headache is treated with an aspirin

While heartache

Well if you have a cure for Heartache let me know
Jack P Nov 2018
line the shores
with hospital beds
let them sleep by the sea

if nothing else
they can jump the fence
untethered from the bodies

but when the credits roll
i still won't get up to leave
because behind the smoke screen of relapse
there's figures waiting for me  

some days i'd like to stay
some days i'd like to drift away
i've never had an original thought
but i keep thinking them anyway

so what will it be: a slice of life, or a chunk of wrist?
sometimes i feel like i can move mountains and other times i feel like i'm underneath one. into it and over it. we'll continue this elsewhere
Brandon Conway Sep 2018

Bottles of cheap bliss
drown out lugubrious sadness
replaced with bottles of ****
in this festering den of madness

at least there’s paradise in my poems
at least there’s a clean bed in my dreams
at least in those spaces I’m in your arms
at least I’m happy bathing in the moonbeam

surround by a fetid smell
with a lack of care for myself,
is my hunger even quelled
when there’s no food left on the shelf?

a roach skitters across a pile of clothes
my temporary friend that I confide in
he speaks, “Here is what I propose.
Stop thinking that you are a has been

get off your *** and clean this mess
unless you want more of my kin
stop ******* at the bottle is what I suggest
and have a little victory, a little win

you don’t have to live”


“Funny how you can survive a nuke
but not my tiny bare foot,
well you pest, there’s my rebuke
how’s it feel to be ground to soot?”

“What am I doing with my life?
Maybe the cockroach was right.”
Brandon Conway Sep 2018

Got jumped going down the alley
by a couple of bottles and a card game
Got my portrait painted finally,
hands hidden by the fancy frame

"Immortalized Sobriety"
that's what I'll call it,
immortalized sobriety
and not alcoholic

I'll tell my friends
I'll never drink again
We both know that's
not ******* happenin'

I'll tell my friends
I'll never lie again
We both know that's
maybe gonna happenin'

Am I losing my mind?
No, no just one more drink
am I perfectly fine?
No, no just let me think

My mind is soaked
in fermented brine
this page is soaked
with blotchy

-ling of a remembrance
woke up in the backseat
of a taxi cab repentance
aftertaste so bittersweet
declare me in-dependance

I'll tell my friends
I'll never drink again
We both know that's
not ******* happenin'

I'll tell my friends
I'll never lie again
We both know that's
already happened

Am I losing my **** mind?
No, no just one more **** drink
am I just ******' blind?
No, no just let me ******' think

I think I might need,
I think I might need,
I think I might need
emme m Jun 2018
why do i like the pain
it's all the same
repeating nights
repeating days
repeating kisses
and repeating shame
feel no ways
***** bottles and a song by drake
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