Sitting in a darkened bar
Ten dead soldiers in a row
My bladder was now screaming
It's time for you to go

I ordered up another drink
Left my seat, went down the hall
And on my way back to the bar
I saw a number on the wall

Help...it said, is close, close by
It's nearer than you think
Call, the number that you see
Before you order your next drink

I thought, it doesn't make much sense
I've got my life under control
I haven't bottomed out quite yet
I'm only half way down the hole

Four more drinks and then again
I stumbled down the hall
And coming back, I once more read
The notice on the wall

Help...it said, is close, close by
It's nearer than you think
Call, the number that you see
Before you order your next drink

I put a dime into the payphone
I thought I'd give it one good try
Before I hit rock bottom
I'd call them up or else I'd die

A friendly voice responded
"out of service...try again"
I laughed at this short message
Then I tried it once again

I checked the number on the notice
Dialed it, and then I heard
the message "out of service"
I laughed at every word

It seems that "out of service"
Was a title I should hold
After all I was a soldier
Out of work, and drunk, and cold

Those three words, they described me
"Out of service" , right bang on
No one cared that I was falling
Who would notice when I'm gone?

I went back to my barstool
Downed my drink and got one more
I thought, I'd better have another
Before I stumbled out the door

Before I went, I ventured
To the jukebox, checked for change
The sign said "out of service"
I thought that that was strange

Twice now, "out of service"
In a message sent to me
Was I truly worth redemption
A hopeless case for all to see

I figured that tomorrow
If I found I woke up dead
"out of service" were the last words
That were emblazoned in my head

I went back to the barkeep
Ordered one more for the road
Then I downed another soldier
"out of service" number stowed

I'd laugh on this tomorrow
If I made it through this night
I was truly "out of service"
I need help to find the light.

the porcelain feels cold
against my skin
i dont know whether
this is real
or a dream
but i do know that i am on the floor
and that my throat stings
with the painful regret
of lasts nights haunting

this is not who i am
but is my forefathers before me
so therefore
it is the ace that stares back at me in
the mirror
lifting its cold arm
liquid to mouth
regret to sorrow

my father would be proud of
his youngest
undoubtedly his smartest child
following pace by pace
in his deep footsteps
his serpent eyes would
reflect off the glass
that i am bringing to  my mouth

and he would laugh
like he's done a thousand times
because in the morning i wont know who i am
my name will be a lie
and i will regret every decision
i have ever made

he will use this time to escape
like his own fathers before him
and he will place the blame
and pass his pain
onto anyone
especially a child

and he will be scared to stray-
to confront
so he continues to march
in the footsteps
that even precede
him

the porcelain feels cold
against my skin
and i can feel it
and i can feel my throat
and i choose feeling
over the comfort
my forefathers have chosen before me
before ME

Pain is inevitable
It cannot be avoided
It can only be eased
Some drink it away
Others may smoke
We all handle pain differently
Who am I to judge?

"Just eat"
Mom says to me as she stares at me staring at my plate
"Wouldn't you feel better If you just ate?" She says "you're killing yourself you dumb little girl"  
I roll my eyes and I blink, I can see she's worrying sick by the bottom of her drink. She shrinks in fear every time I sit down to eat, cause she knows what I plan on doing in the bathroom every time I leave the kitchen.

"What a living hell" she says, looking at me like I'm the craziest ******* earth; As if I was the only one in the whole world. I just sit there staring back without talking any words.
She yells "you're putting me trough hell"
"Well mom you're so selfish that it's hard to tell" I respond
She calms a bit down as I bite a carrot, still she always seems to me like a parrot "eat eat eat" "don't do this to me" she repeats night and day even in her sleep.

I love my mum but she doesn't get being numb, food stuck on my mind while I'm just chewing gum, she just thinks I'm really dumb, for starving myself.
"Oh my darling" she sobs every time she's serving my plate "my poor little darling" observing my every move to make sure I don't hide my meal inside my hair
"Just eat, You'll feel better and you'll start to heal"
I know she's right, being cold and dizzy all the time is exactly my fight, Madly I bite my lip so she doesn't notice  I care. My head is aching all the time but at least my weight is not okay for my height so I might hide how much it hurts again.

"Just eat your meat" she says staring at me like I'm some kind of freak "You're so pale and weak, you must eat, don't cheat and you'll get a treat" I know she's right because I can never feel the heat but she should meet the two girls in my head I can never beat.

"Just eat, your arms and legs could snap" but at least I have a slender neck and a stomach that's flat.

"Just eat please, you're so sick" I know this but I'll have to stick with water and celery although I'll have no energy, I'll look pretty.

"Just eat, It tastes better than you think"
she says as she takes a bite out of the dessert she just served, but all I can think of is how much It'll hurt.
"Why would it hurt? It's just cake for god's sake" she yells
But all I feel is dirt and blame on the after taste of chocolate, I know I'll just break If I take a bite. I shake my head saying "No, I'm fine"
"Just eat, I baked it just for you" she says as she pours another glass of wine,
She's been drinking since I was nine, just after I broke my spine and I had to get surgery so mom found comfort on the nursery watching the fat little babies laugh and sleep, she claims there was so much peace she just had to get a drink.

"Just freaking eat" she screams at me
"Why can't you just at least eat beans like the other teens?" "But mom If I eat beans I won't fit into my jeans" I say. "We will get you some new jeans, but at least eat the greens" she responds.

I'm so sick of hearing her, I think my mind might explode so I might as well take a bite, I suppose. I grab a fork but I can't control feeling so alone and exposed so tears start coming out of my eyes, I know she is always right. I should eat, I shouldn't feel this weak.
"That's okay Honey, I'm here"  but that normally only lasts for a week until she stops caring and disappears as I sink in my tears, then she comes back and yells I should
Just eat.

broke her heart did he
there was no time to think
was it her fault thought she
a glass of ***** was her drink
was it the glass that he forebid
or the slip of her tongue and sadden face
for told a huge lie is what she did
her heart in her ears poundin at a fast pace
tears ran down her cheeks from her eyes
she dare not look at him any more
for it was him that she despize
that's what she was drinking for

Blue and black
Mixed with red and tin
The pen always rips through tear soaked paper
Tears always bring tin
Tin always brings tears

For every time that you died
I've killed my liver ten fold
I know and hope I was your best friend
But anxiety and depression have nothing but questions
But I know I was almost your last call

That last call is entirely burden and curse
Any positivity is pushed down by desired silence
I'm sorry I did not answer
But am I sorry to you or your family?
I am sorry to myself

Ghosts are not real, I haunt myself
The phone I did not answer, haunts me
The grief of the world, or maybe
Just the coppery taste of blood in my beer, haunts me.
I write, drink, and act in your memory because you are forever my friend.

Am I happy,
Or am I someone that holds a fake happiness?

My happiness,
Is rather a mixed drink of other emotions as well.

I am dancing on stones,
Some of those stones are sharp;
There cutting into my skin, leaving scars to prove that they were there.

I keep on dancing on this happiness,
That keeps cutting into me and questioning me.
I am dancing with a old drink called happiness,
And its the one devouring me.

I like this pub.
Not too loud so you can't think.
Not too quiet so that you can't
help but think.

An old Cambridge pub called
the Portland Arms.
I've recently taken to drinking
whiskey straight, enjoying the burn.

The music is mediocre but
the people seem genuine enough.
Not that that matters anyway
when you're drinking alone.