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Pick your poison pick your cure
I didn’t think you’d‘ve chosen her
Alone I lay while you caress
Your lonely lips around her breath
Your love’s the only drug I need
But my love’s not enough
Your lips caress her deadly grip
As mine curl up and pout
My worry an annoyance
You tape my mouth shut tight
Our love that was once buoyant
Has sunken out of sight
My trust for you has left me
I never thought it would
You hid and have misled me
And broke my heart for good.
What’s a life,
If you’re going to throw it away,
With yourself down the bottle.
Is it worth the 9 months,
Just to see,
The baby carried away with cold feet?
Because YOU couldn’t stop drowning your sorrows,
Bottle By Bottle.
Now you may get a living one,
But what is to be of he/she,
Will they not be able to talk,
Or just an addict meant to be.
Now the first sip of alcohol
Will be the last first goodbye,
To the baby you never gave a chance,
To have a normal life.
So will you just put down the bottle,
To save the unborns life?
Or will you drink away your sorrows,
Thinking everything will turn out right?
Melanie Sep 2019
Dad called
Says he's got trouble on the rocks..

My Funday went Sunday
Stubbed short a payday
I now have a bad day
Thank you Dad Day

Hello, hell hole
You talk to talk
I drop kick rocks
In between my lips unlocked
Leaving you crippled
You can't keep up with my walk
Your talk is cheap
Like chalk on the side you're disability inclined
So you stare cause you're stalked

There at my door you knock
Past all my cheap shots

Regard I am less;
My door is locked
Behind it, no kindness

More or less;
Less is more

My home is not your home

I shall regret this
My mind tells me in time
To go back;
Be kind
Unlock your jaw
Forgive you for all your flaws
Brought up within four walls..

Behind the truth
Lies a bitter taste
Where shots run raw
Distaste among displace
Entrapped like a rat race
With cold bare feet
I gave chase a good race

Although I've tried
I couldn't think past
Chasing so fast I cried
Of ***** & ice

Dad, I love you
Not once
Not twice
I love you whole
Despite your Ill begotten gut
Fluid filled strewn lout  
In between & all throughout
You lacked the might
To do what was right

I don't love you less
I love you more
I know once for sure,
Twice more

***** & ice
I'm not so sure
Is your one true vice
Perhaps my lack of nice
Lust for precise
Must to call you out on said vice
Was to myself, my own such advice

A war for what
For what a war
I wrote this years before my father passed away from liver failure due to his drinking. He was 62. I hated him drinking and used to treat him rather negatively over it. Then i realized how wrong I was to be mean to my father we were best friends and from then on I just embraced his ***** because it was a part of him.. miss you so much dad
Thomas W Case May 10
"When you have 20 bucks in
your pocket you act like your rich,
then you get that itch to drink.
You blow through your money
like a cyclone, like sand through
your hands."
She didn't treat similes well,
and she was always *******.
"You eat up all my food,
and you don't do anything except
sit there and write.
Write and smoke, smoke and write.
Your cigarettes stink up my apartment."
She was always lighting incense, and
spraying air freshener.
I ask her why, if she hates smoke so
much, does she get drunk and
smoke all my cigarettes?
She doesn't respond.
"When are you going to get off
your *** and do something?
But no, you'd rather sit there and smoke.
Smoke and write, write and smoke.
Sure, you **** me, but your ****
doesn't pay the bills."
I ask her if she wants it to, and I
think she might slap me.
"Yea, the *** is great, but we can't
just live on ***."
I suggest we try.  She doesn't
even crack a smile.
"And when I get wine, you drink most
of it, and then you strut around in
your filthy boxers and spout poetry.
Then you just sit there and smoke.
Smoke and write, write and smoke."
She storms off, and an hour later,
with childlike innocence, she asks,
"What are you writing?"
there is a man.
he steps into a bar.
it looks as if to
be older than he himself.

eyes flutter to his stained clothes.
he’s composed of
coarse skin,
***** nails,
whiskey for blood,
a head full of Bukowski,
sixty two dollars,
and some change.

only the elements.

he drinks, and drinks, and drinks.
he burps, he yells,
he ****** on the curb,
he curses.
a swig and kick then swing.
and now the
asphalt feels colder than steel.

warmer was the creaking barstool,
heating his soul,
gulp after gulp.

bitter bottom shelf brown.

but he’s determined.
determined to finish it.
and he returns.

nobody in the bar.
he looks out a window.
the streets are empty.
he grabs bottles that are not,
making friends with them.

alone with the barstool.
the tender, emerging from underneath the bar,
fixes another drink.
the man thought he was alone.
the glasses clink.

they drink, and drink, and drink.
alone, but together.

in a drunken haze he sees the drywall melt.
he hears the rumble, the pieces of oak wood
being ripped from their foundations.

the shattered glasses surrounding
the man, forming a barrier between
the outside world and himself he could not understand.

“it’s falling apart, isn't it.”
says the man, accepting.

“why yes, yes it is.”
says the tender, fixing one last drink.

“here’s to misery.”
says the tender, raising his glass up to the man.

“...and here’s to it’s company.”
says the man.

the glasses clink,
he looks out the window again.
he thinks of where he could be right now,
outside he sees marie, the kids,
the front lawn where he’d
drink beer and pretend to like
his neighbors.  

he hears no gulp or groan
from the tender.
the man looks back and sees an empty bar
with nobody there.

he feels the bar collapsing
in on itself, destroying everything within it.
a shame, truly.

no one to bask in this with.

he says, raising his glass of bitter brown in the air.

“ just misery then.”


please comment & repost if you enjoyed.
there was never a time I wasn’t faking it
sipping on lies like wine and always wanting more
I can’t remember not being thirsty

with liquor, my words run rampant
they slip from my tongue so easily and dance in the streets
they’re willing to burn down cities
they’re willing to cut throats
they’re willing to ruin anything good
another reason I stopped drinking-- I can’t keep feeding myself frenzies
i give up good, i give up so ******* good
Claudia Apr 26
Stop drinking beer.
He is still there.
Where? In the air?

He is not there, but here.
But, it is bare.
The Man in the Mirror:
Could you be more clearer?

Why don't you stop?
What? Where is this cop?
Uh, huh.

Oh, Cop:
Why are you non-stop?
He is on the tiptop
Of a long drop.

Why, that is just horror.
Do you really have to be full of terror?
But, it is the Man in the Mirror,
Not full of error.

The Man in the Mirror:
Could you be more clearer?
You are not an error,
But terror.
Dominique Apr 24
sunlight licks the kitchen floor,
but sunlight is delirious;
soft-brained, a half-wit,
deaf to the creak and slam of doors
blind to crumpled t-shirts
lacking tact, a clinging idiot
leaning on whitewashed walls
to read what's in the cat scratch

it doesn't understand
it wants to play, it dribbles
it pokes my thighs, it dimples
rolls around in the soil
shimmies in the grasses
brings back the scent of warmth
on its grimy cheeks

it's just a child,
it doesn't know I've lost you
can't smell the stomach acid
or register my shame
it tilts its head, i slap it
it was there, should remember
your soft skin, your name

i melt into my pillow
pull the shutters on my eyes
don't think about the water
or the *****
or the mauve congealing blood
forget about the battered sun
just wait for moon to rise.
this was sometime in may last year but it came to me again tonight
the sunlight wasn't the stupid one-
Empire Apr 23
I want to drink
Because life hurts
Because all I feel is pain or numb
Because happiness escapes me
Because every smile is skin deep
Because my veins burn to be opened
Because I can’t laugh without feeling empty
Because maybe enough toxins in my blood
Can make me feel okay
Just for a little while...
I swear... there’s nothing good about being a depressed, anxious 20 year old surrounded by alcohol and people who drink to cope but won’t let you join in.... please, do one more thing to make me feel more left out I dare you.

Once I turn 21... if I still feel like this, I may never be sober again...
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