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helena alexis Nov 2017
sometimes you
just need a shot
of inspiration
and a swig of
emotion to help
write poetry
Laura Warner Nov 2017
Hard liquor on my lips
Still doesn't burn as much as you
You may have left
But your taste lingers on
I drink to forget you
Yet every time i’m back in the same place
With your face plastered on my mind
Contradicting comments
And broken promises
Are all that is left until
Sapphire pools draw me back home
Back to the comfort of two arms
Open wide anticipating my return
But not tonight
Tonight I sit alone
Letting the cold poison trickle down my throat
Wondering what in the world went wrong.
abigail ward Nov 2017
Take another sip
see what happens
to your family, your friends
Because while you drown in *****,
they are drowning in sorrow
and when you remove your lips from that bottle
you do not find
peace, tranquility, happiness
instead you find
regret, anger, and sadness
So tell me why
Why are we addicted to the things that will **** us and pain the outside world
Angela Rose Nov 2017
This rosé tastes like I will be texting you two AM
It tastes like I will gather up my thoughts and tell you I am oh so in love with you
It almost tastes like I want to see you and feel your embrace once again

Four glasses in and this rosé tastes like I should be entangled up with you in my California king bed
It tastes like I will send you a three page text confessing things I shouldn't ever say out loud
It almost tastes like we should be up in the middle of the night making pancakes in our underwear

I graduated from rosé onto ***** now, and it tastes like every feeling I have been hiding for the last eight years
It tastes like I should not even have access to a phone where I can text you my heartfelt feelings
It almost tastes like I should go to bed and forget that we even were together

goodnight
She Writes Nov 2017
Life is an uncanny thing
A mystery ride
Scared of what the future may bring
I’m fine, she lied

The future fills her thoughts
Why does she do this?
Will she get caught?
If she leaves what would she miss?

Her mind wanders constantly
Fantasies keep her sane
Choosing to live vicariously
Through the dreams in her brain

As she downs her wine
She whispers “I’m fine”
Emily Miller Oct 2017
Tip tap, tip tap
Tapping, tapping, tapping
With that incessant sound,
That pleasurable pressure on the nail beds as the fingernails press down,
Down on the keys until the words come out,
Lifting momentarily to snap, pop, and crack those knuckles
To relieve that stiffness
Loosen them up enough to lift the bottle,
Fingers grasped tightly around the slender, delicate neck,
Swing it up,
Get enough leverage to do it with one hand,
Because you can't spare the other,
It's typing,
Still typing,
Typing nothing,
Nothing Important.
Bottle up, up in the air,
Hard swallows of that sweet, sweet poison that tastes better when there's more,
Dim lamplight casting dark green from the bottle onto the walls,
Like a mockery of a dappling light through tree branches in a forest.
The jagged thoughts that don't make sentences,
Only angry snarling,
Smooth over as the poison drips down,
Sinks in,
Melts those granite thoughts down to a rich,
Decadent
Oil
That slips off the fingertips into the keys,
And bedews each word,
Dripping that life into them,
Satisfying, satiating, saturating,
Until they are plump and vital,
And fingers are falling on the keys like knees to the floor in prayer,
And those words are being worshiped,
Exalted and revered,
And instead of the words being creations,
The words are the gods of the fingers,
The fingers the creations,
Throwing themselves down in ritual,
The raw, chafing flesh of the tips pounding against the keyboard like the mutilated backs of the self-flagellating worshipers of other gods,
And they go down and down and down
Until they can't do it anymore and the poison is gone and the words are dried up again,
And the gods don't seem real anymore
And the hands fall dead in the lap
Only stirring to lift that last swig of the poison
One last sip
And that's it
Death to the hands.
Meg Howell Nov 2017
Is this an outer-body experience
Or a pretentious subsistence
Like a dog barking at my built up wall
Forming a pattern of cautious consistence

I've never broken a heart but
I've broken every plan I've chosen to mess with
I'm slowly downing this regret and distrust
Like it's freshly poured absinth

The sickness comes right away,
Which I oddly knew to begin with
I say that I'll change someday,
But I think I'll probably stay this way

After all, I'm happy
When the salt isn't in my wounds
After all, I'm happy
When I'm sitting here with you
Aubri120 Nov 2017
Fairy Tales end with happy endings,
Not bad memories and a drug problem.
I see the world as a sad fairy tale
With teens wishing upon a star,
Wanting a happy ending.
I wanna DIE!
They scream as they drag
a blade across their perfect skin
With an abusive father
and alcoholic mother.
I want you to LOVE me.
She cries because he left
Her for a better version
Of barbie, with bleach blonde
Hair and sunkissed skin.
I want this all to end
He slurs while finishing
The empty bottle of jack
He kept hidden under his bed
Away from his toxic grandparents
And runaway sister.
I have no place on earth
He laughs while placing a colorful
Sticker on his tongue
Starving because his house is broke
And his mother is addicted to ****.
I know stories
That are not mine to tell,
Stories that are told without words
But actions that speak
For themselves.
There’s a girl overfilled with
Pills and drama.
She reminds me of a bubble
Light, and fun to play with
But get to rough and she’ll explode.
There’s a boy with a mind of a girl,
Filled with unhappy thoughts
And bad memories sent away
For eight months because of
The rope tied to the ceiling.
There’s an eighteen year old who
Writes music to escape
The feeling of being messed over
By a girl with unhealthy habits
And a way with tricks.  
I know a boy who chose
A better life in the marines,
then a jealous stepbrother,
And suicidal father.
Today, i spoke of these stories
I was told to show you how life
Is not always given a happy ending
For those who deserve it.

But you, have the decision to change it all now.  
~a.u.
Francie Lynch Oct 2017
Got back successfully,
From weeks of ecstasy;
Coming down from a high,
Still not measuring up.
My hill is daunting,
The valleys so low;
I watch my step
From backsliding below.
I know there's reason
Where the light's up this road.
I'm still plodding
Where I need to go.
Back from Ireland, and the liver had a workout.
sadgirl Oct 2017
you might as well
asked me to drink
bleach through a straw,

boiling to a point where
i could smell the sharpness
like a needle through my nose

and when girls say they
tried to drink men away, i
laugh at them

because yellow teeth
and lemonade
from the sourest of lemons,

squeezed and strained through a
sugared cloth by the hands of
your mother's mother

still tastes like ****,
sour as it may be
life is nothing more

than an endless
under-sink
cabinet
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