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I was drunk once.
Drunk on love,
drunk on ****.

I was drunk,
warm and full.

You were sober,
cold and empty.
Omar 1d
The moon got drunk

and missed the show

that starless saturday night

while I was freezing

on the park bench

circles of smoke

around my head

heaps of ashes

at my feet

writing a merry christmas

postcard to you
his arms around my waist
his face fuzzy because I can't keep focus
everything about this was perfect
everything about the broken glass was perfect
his hands in my hair
my fingers running over his shoulder
I know I'm sad inside
I know he's struggling to figure this out
we held embrace with my back against the wall
i can feel his breath on my neck
but we both drank too much
and we both dreamt of better worlds
my body is so high right now
my mind is soaring
I never want him to let go
he doesn't want to let go
once our touch is gone it's only us
in our destructions and faded lies
even after this is all gone
even after everything is lost in my mind
I'll still feel his fingers through my hair
and the way he smiled
both drunk in love
a rendition of my life.
episode one.
stay tuned.
Sometimes,
I imagine I'm some
mourning starlet
who sings Lana Del Rey
at the club
every Saturday night.

A honeyed halo of stage light
tangles itself about
the curled labyrinth
of my hair,
sparkles gold against
my tearing irises.

My mouth parts
and the war cries begin.

In the moments that
the melody offers
my voice repose,
I pound shots to the beat
of the drummer's ramblings.

The crowd applauds
my tipsiness,
their hoots of praise
shaking at the depths
of my eardrums
like an intoxicated tambourine.

My neuroticism
fascinates these people,
I think.

Not in an
exploitive,
let's-glamourize-depression
kind of way,
but in an
it is a truth universally acknowledged
kind of way--in a
"*******, cuz I've been there too"
kind of way.

See,
within my little,
concocted fantasy
of stage light
and music
and *****,
the people don't judge me
the way they do
on the outside.

Here,
I am not
melodramatic or
overly sensitive or
disposable.

Here,
my war cries sound
a little less
like death and
a little more
like poetry.

Here,
they love me
in spite of the sadness.

Here,
we share a song--
here,
they sing with me.
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

jadefbartlett.wixsite.com/tickledpurple

(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience)
To the girl,
he is going to marry,


   When he comes home drunk,
   And calls out my name,
  Just kiss him and whisper,
  "I'm here, honey."
They kiss sometimes
Mostly when the moon is high
And the stars are blurry
Diluted by the fourth and fifth whiskey
Details of this velvet cloaked romance
Are kept sparse
Once daylight touches their skin
Watered down recollections
Remain under lock and key
Hidden in that dark box
Not even the brightest sunbeams *******
don't mistake love for ****
he may pry your legs open and kiss inbetween them in a way that makes you feel like you're touching heaven
but if he doesn't talk to your little brother like he's his own
or hug your mom so tight it's as if he's saying "thank you for her"
if he only calls you after midnight
when the liquor running through his bloodstream makes his body ache
he is only looking for someone to meet him at the bottom of a bottle and not someone to trace circles on his hands underneath his parents dining room table
he will keep his thoughts in like smoke he can't exhale
and you will drive yourself mad trying to pry them out of the same lips you thought would heal you
because the truth is no man can love you who doesn't love himself
jerrey Jan 7
Once when I was drunk
I held my hand to a flame
And it didn’t hurt
Ohhh it burns so bad but I pretend I don’t feel it
Rowan S Jan 5
Creeping guilt
Haunting shame
Liquid burn
Checking out now
When my mind won't slow
Distilled rye
Filling the gray canyons, the crevices
Pulsing, swimming fire
Hopes that this poison
This pleasure
Will scorch
And end
This madness
Old poem. I used to drink for many reasons, but ultimately, it was always me searching for oblivion.
Kai Schultz Jan 5
Growing up, I remember always being in some danger
Someone would take a dangerous,
dark,
interest in me.

I would go home from school
Tell momma that a boy a few years older than me
Liked me but was scary
And wanted to take me away
She would say to others
"Such a silly girl,
With her silly little stories"

This boy, he never lost interest in me
He would draw me pictures
And take photographs of me on the swings
saying it was fun
saying it was harmless.

Soon enough he started to touch
to touch in the most intimate of places
him and his friend
they would touch me and i didn't know that it was wrong.
when I did find out maybe a year or so later,
I told mum
I told her and she didn't believe me because I was so young yet.
"Such a silly girl,
With your silly little stories."

Time passed, and he grew more dangerous.
He wanted to take me away still.
He wanted to 'keep me safe'
and he did
he took me when he got his license,
the day he got it
he took me and for two years
nobody knew

he had told my friend who i'd been staying with
that I was in London studying with my brother
oh what a lie
what a wonderful, believable lie.
And for two years
we were on the road

he implanted thoughts into my brain
conditioned me to behave,
to allow him to
yet I wasn't all there
I was a zombie
and he used me for as long as he could
then brought me back

people saw i had changed,
some even asked why
i told them
i told them that the boy was crazy
and that he took me and beat me until i listened
beat me until i said yes
until i loved him
until i was that zombie
with that stockholm syndrome
and all they said was
"Such a silly girl,
with her silly little stories"

he stuck around
because nobody believed me
he eventually got me to shut up about it
him and his friend
they touched me
they kept doing awful things
used me...
i became a mommy, and yet
my own mommy didn't believe me STILL.

eventually the cops caught on
they put him in jail a few times
but never long
and mum still didn't believe me.
she thought it was something
like a misunderstanding
that the two boys were angels
and whenever he was out again
he would say to everyone else
convincing them i was ******,
"Such a silly little girl,
with such silly little stories."

I started eating less
when he called me fat
i cut down on a lot of the eating i used to do
so he would still love me
when nobody else would
because in that twisted way
i did love him
and i needed him
to feel the same

i also started wearing less around him
in those moments when him and I were alone
because I needed to please him
i needed to know he would indeed love me
and i thought he did
he said he did
i swear to the gods he did

then he was put in jail again
and i was left with his friend
his best friend
the other one who liked to touch
and at the same time i was kicked out
me, mum, and my little sister
we moved in with mum's friend
and i got into a messy ****** relationship
with mum's friend's son
and he used me
a lot
the first night
he thought i was asleep
it started with a cuddle because
i was sad
and when he thought i was asleep
he started touching
grabbing
moving his hands and fingers into places he shouldn't have
it hurt
he hurt me
he kept putting a hand over my mouth
to muffle the whimpers that escaped
in protest to what he was doing
but he wanted it muffled
not because someone would help or anything
but because he would get teased for finally
getting a girl.

at some point i fell in love with a man
a man on the internet
yes i know
exactly how that sounds
but i swear
by now i know my feelings somewhat more

He did this for many nights
every night
for two weeks maybe
before i broke it off
he kept pushing my head
grabbing at my hair in tight handfuls
telling me
'**** it'
or 'get on top of me'
or something else
something else that would break me

and then i did break it off and
the boy i loved
his friend
came over and... worried some friends
hurt me
but left before he could...
well...

but at school he did it.
he pulled me out of classes,
went to bathrooms,
locker rooms,
his car out in the school lot...
and he was a lot less gentle than Him.

I started dropping weight,
started hoping He would be out soon.
I started eating even less.
i wanted to be pretty.
i wanted him to love me still
even though people online were telling me
that he was bad for me
that i should stop loving him
that he's evil

i would cry at
the mentions of ****
the entirety of the subject
because i would know
that was what was happening to me...
but still people didn't believe me.
i was a silly little girl,
with silly little stories

i kept trying to **** myself
to take away the pain
wash away all the filth
that had built up from Him and his friend
on my skin
which was bruised and scarred
not only from him
but also myself.

then
another friend of His
came and confessed his love
but rejection made him
pull out the gun
shoot me and miss by a bit
hitting me in the leg
then he shot himself
and died
and i still wish that he had been
a bit better of a shot than that.

i had surgeries
two
and yet people still tried to brush me off.
"what a silly little girl,
with those silly little stories."

suddenly
i confess to that man online
that i love him
and he cares
he's sweet
he's honest
he helps me
he wants to, anyway
i admire that
but he's so much more than that
he's a good man
he's creative
you can always trust him...
of course,
he's so far away
and i'm only a little girl i guess...
but already he means the world to me.
i would do anything for him.

and lately
this group
of older kids-
seniors-
they come over
steal the alcohol
and drink.
they get drunk and
one of them does the whole touching thing
keeping the cycle from stopping
scaring me
choking me out at times
smacking me
doing things to my body that i can only speak of in my head..
yet
after all this time
only a few believe me
because
i'm just a silly little girl
making up silly little stories..
seeking attention
in a cruel world
filled with disgusting people
who don't deserve to live.
and i'm one of them, i guess.
here's my uh... story.
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