Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Holly Dec 2018
The taste of your bourbon sweet lips
in the backseat of my car
on a gravel road
that I haven't visited since high school...
If only we were driving a '91 Civic,
I would swear that I was 17 again.
Ron Gavalik Aug 2018
That bartender poured my bourbon
and took an interest in my life.
'What's wrong, pal?
You can tell me.
I have all the answers.'
'Great,' I said. 'I don't know
any of the questions.'
For the rest of the night,
he left me with my typer
and silently refilled
the bourbon.

-Ron Gavalik
Hit my Patreon or let me starve. The choice is yours. Patreon.com/rongavalik
Ron Gavalik Jul 2018
At this sushi joint,
she searched for the words
to describe her dinner.
‘It's heaven,’ she said, ‘Yes, heaven.’
Call me a simpleton, but divinity
on Earth is the sweet tinge of bourbon,
the smoke of an acid 60 gauge
that rolls over the tongue,
and the music of Pink Floyd
with the lights off.

-Ron Gavalik
Hit Patreon. No, I’m not kidding. Patreon.com/rongavalik
Cana May 2018
To get lost on a shelf.
A journey, couch potato tourist,
Book upon book, fantastical and fact
An expergefactor for the literary senses.

A sofa that swallows you whole
with an old fashioned friend,
stirring bourbon thoughts and
swirling orange twists

A wall of books,
novels and tomes.
Hemingway nestled next to Palahniuk.
Generational angst and
Alphabetical Chaos!
Dreams
Cné Feb 2018
I just had a shot
Of Pappy Van Winkle neat
Smooth with a good burn
Dakota J Dawson Mar 2018
I can't believe it
Five seconds I was sober
Due to Evan

Worst drink
Best friend
Empty vase

Lying to my face
Preaching happy thoughts
Corrupting fables and dreams

Bourbon is fine
William not
Confusion without show

Conclusion too far away
Drifting in a sea
That I can't reach
Cana Feb 2018
The warmth fills you up
The burn scrapes your throat
You’d like to hiccough
And your brain is afloat

The Bourbon is hot
The ice is not
The ****** is sweet
But my heart prefers it neat.
I’m drunk. Leave me alone
Cana Feb 2018
Morning mood was bleak
Spiced with some Jazz, a poached egg and Appreciation.

Noon was carnival!
BBQ on the dock sprinkled with tropical house and a heavy dose of ***.

Night was narcissism
Sinful Bourbon and banana desserts, cigarettes aplenty, blue lights and bad habits
Day 6 was a good day.
svdgrl Sep 2017
I want to cry but to be perfectly honest,
I don’t feel like crying. I mean maybe,
I feel like I should be crying,
perhaps the girl, that wasn’t on anything
would probably be bawling her face out into her sheets,
or at least be asleep,
But here I am awake at 5 in the morning,
obviously tired.
Eyes dry and wide open,
Obviously spent
Numb-nosed and **** bent on writing something to read today
I’m typing away at this screen as if my conscience is the only thing
that could hear me if I scream out loud right now.
Enough of that,
filler angst.

I’ve been a juicy story for ya, huh?
Tellin your boys
I ended your dry spell, did I?
That’s quite lovely.
I suppose you ended mine, but I guess I find that hard to define
with a saying as simple as that, “She ended my dry spell”
In my heart, I know how to end you, but don’t be concerned.
I won’t try.
They say I’m too nice.
And when I hear that, I nod twice with my jaw tight
When I hear that, I don’t show them what I write.

I guess I don’t really feel much anger towards you anyway.
No matter what ill will I try to muster up, it’s lackluster and faded.
I mean, I guess it’s mostly me that’s jaded, so
It’s not your fault.
You’re the bystander.
And nothing is really telling you to save me.
Certainly, not I.
****, I’d be ****** if you tried.
I mean how much saving do I really need,
if the knots in my chest and around my ankles are this loose?
And I’m drinking this juice with free hands
it tastes sweet but not sticky

Honey, thanks for the truth,
you are a straight shooter-
and I might just be digging that part of you.
That and that we can go at it hard and forever.
That doesn’t hurt, I think.
For that, I can deal with listening to your jabber,
your kissing and telling, your “**** I couldn’t have her.”
Just pass the bourbon please, even though it's only scotch,
there’s still an urgency, to not be sober while you talk.

I don’t know.

This is what I wanted, right?
No strings attached too tight?

I like how you feel against my cheek.
Almost like you mean something.
You’re warm and I’m buzzed,
hanging off the edge of ****
It’s just oxytocin playing the cruel trick.
I remind myself you’re just that.
Oxytocin and some good ****.
But I like how you feel against my cheek.
Just ***** that you bore me when you speak.
Ron Gavalik Aug 2017
The moment the mind floats
on two shots of bourbon
our physical and mental ailments,
the stress of bills, the job,
and our resentment for ex-lovers
clocks out for the evening.
Don't worry.
The **** storm will return
in the morning,
but that break and a quick prayer
gives us the tools
to withstand the storm.
Thoughts
Next page