Whiskey sours and old fashioneds
Will always be my greatest vice
As well as my closest confidant
For I am obsessed with the process
They call intoxication
And how my body can descend
Into a pool of serenity
The glass hits my lips
And within the next ten minutes
I am no longer compelled
To pick my cuticles
Every fleeting thought of total apprehension
Is replaced by feelings of contentment and bliss
My eyes become glassy
While my body grows weary
And soon enough I am deep in slumber
Most likely on a barstool
With my head on the counter
In a blue collar town
Filled with like minded people
Who much like myself
Are just trying to keep their sanity
I find comfort in make believe-
The way others might find comfort
In the thought of their lungs
But, the idea of drowning terrifies me
I’ve ran to the edge of a cliff before telling myself
The rocks might soften the blow
Before the water does
My skull will splinter and lay amongst the dirt.
I couldn’t find the courage to jump
However, I try to tell myself that laying down on the cotton wool grass
And looking up into space with tears running down my face
Whilst a voice tells me
“Sort your shit out before you truly do collapse”
Before I do go over the cliff's edge
Is far braver then becoming
Amongst the water's side
There is such an ugliness with the obsession with wanting to die
It's far more than wanting though
Even more than a release
It’s a craving, a sick twisted addiction
A constant need-
Because once I am dead I will rot
I will become one with the Earth
Become a part of the soil
There is an uncertain ease in knowing that my body without function
Has so much more
Compared to the one sitting here, breathing
With a heart beating on the inside
It’s like all I do with my time is drink tea and get high
Dress up and get drunk
I’ve got these two people inside of me
But each of them both live in fear of sobriety
So instead of diving into liquid, giving the dramatics
I will destroy my organs and my mind
Because right now it feels like a way to simply past the time
There is always too much time
And self- destruction through substance
Feels like far less of a commitment
Then committing to actually jumping
Maybe I am not brave at all
Because I still lack the courage
To not destroy myself
One way or another.
I wanna see the blood
I wanna see the pain
I wanna prove that my body
Is nothing more than a frame
My mind is screaming
Parts of it beg me to bleed
The others demonize those pleas
I just don't want to feel this way anymore
And I suppose it's my own fault
I know how I get
When I start drinking then stop
Maybe that's why I always overdo it
Because then I can get sick and sleep
Before this depression takes its hold
And sets my demons free
Digging and clawing at my mind
Until I do the same to my own skin
Sitting in this dark room
Running from my own darkness
Drowning out this fear and pain
With cold liquor and burning nicotine
Anxiety is spiraling through my veins
And the alcohol tames it for a minute
But then again I'm drinking alone
And that itself is dangerous
My clean arms are taunting me
Begging me to stain them red
With my own hands
To coat them with my own demons
I've been clean awhile now
And I've been doing well
But some days I'm not so sure
Because the knife is always a few feet away
How do you kill something inside yourself?
How do you escape your own feelings?
I know it's unhealthy
But these substances make it easier to deal
I'd never leave a night without my favorite men.
Jack, made me feel ambitious and protected.
Jameson, warmed me when the nights were too cold to bare.
And lastly, Jose, I'd never have a dull moment when he was around. He always knew how to lift my spirits when life was out of lemons.
I'd leave them all for you in a heart beat, but you've opened yours to me only to reveal a love as cold as the ice cubes in my honey Tennessee.
Where is the nearest liquor store? My men and i have much catching up to do.
If I'm being honest,
I press my lips to the glass
To follow you down.
I am a message in an opened bottle
But I keep pace
With your sips
Hoping our loose lips
Might, together, launch ships.
If I'm being honest,
I sip the nectar of intoxication
To make excuses.
I am sure of my sober thoughts
But I know
Under night's tender spell
Is where we might tell
All truth before morning's knell.
If I'm being honest,
I'm already one ahead
To calm my racing heart.
I have rehearsed this conversation alone
Hoping to finally break
Past the short ending
Through the faltering and shaking
To say the things we are longing.
If we're being honest,
We're getting toasted
Just to loiter.
We keep turning the hourglass over
Buying more time
With water in bars,
Playlists in parked cars,
And chilly walks under the stars.
yesterday i got blood on my jeans
from opening the scrape on my knee
i got three days ago, slipping in the shower,
drunk as hell before noon.
my dad told me to leave the rest of his beer
after i took five in twenty four hours.
i wonder if he realizes how bad i am.
i have to have at least one drink
before i see anyone, just to loosen up.
i drink throughout the day,
not caring what time i start.
my boy expressed concern
about all my empty beer cans.
i decided six hours ago
i would take a break from drinking
but my friend gave me a jelly jar of vodka
and i keep telling her i’ll stop, as i pour another.
“i’m going to not drink for two weeks,”
i say as my speech begins to slur.
how many will be my ‘last drink?’
will i make it two weeks?
will i care? does it fucking matter?
there will always be new blood on my jeans.
if you’re a virgin
writing about sex
don’t do it
it’s too late
for you with
and with sex
if you’re writing
about drugs and
if you’re writing
and your lips
have never tasted
don’t waste your time
if you’ve been lassoed
in by the cowboys known
as the record companies
and been dragged through
the mud of commercial music
and came out the other side
only knowing what’s been
shoved down your throat
stop what you’re doing
and quit writing about music
if you’ve never been in a
serious relationship or
had someone die on you
with an unknowingly
amount of time of
wondering when this
is going to end
don’t write about heartbreak
if you haven’t spent days
at the library and hours
upon hours reading book
there’s no use in writing at all
unless this world we live in
and this life you lead doesn’t
chew you up and spit you out
and stripped you down and
leave you with nothing except
with no one around to hold you
and let you know it’s gonna be alright
you really haven’t lived yet
from rock bottom to the
highest mountain and
everywhere in between
there is no final judgment
of writing until it comes
from the writer themselves
I am no great warrior
in this battlefield,
just reaching out
for a speck of courage
to see if I have any
I’m gonna put this to you
as gentle and delicately
as I possibly can
if you don’t experience life
til almost certain death and
read an innumerable amount
of books along the way
before you start writing,
the unveiling of your writing
is going to be unavailing
but don’t let me tell you
how to fuck
I’m not your real dad.