Dear Diary;
Does not drinking
half a bottle of gin
make me more or
less fun at parties?
On second thoughts,
don't answer that.

Why would you bring me here
And surround me by things I can’t have
Just drown me in temptation
That I can’t give in to
And you won’t talk to me
Because I’m not fun
Because I can’t drink with you
So I’m just sitting here
Alone
Isolated
Depressed
Waiting for all you drunk idiots
To just let me leave

It hurts to want so badly to be a part of it all
To need to be included
But to be sitting on the edge of the room
Counting down the minutes
Until I can just leave you all alone
To enjoy yourselves

I want to confess you my secrets.

My heart is throbbing

for the altar of our moments.

The devil is jealous

‘cause he can see our blessings.

The love you make me feel like a religion

makes me pray every single word to you

'til you save me from my demons.

What a heavenly moment, ah.

I’m dying to feel you again

It's Saturday night,
There's people out dancing.
There's people out drinking,
But here I am sitting
At home all alone.

Is that even right?
I mean,  what am I thinking,
Just sitting here and shrinking,
Not taking my eyes off
The screen of my phone?

My friends haven't called me,
To drag me to parties,  
Or some crazy dive bar,
With two dollar drinks.

It's these kinds of weekends
That make me feel sorry:
I guess I'm just too gone
To party with, me.

But sometimes I hear it,
A knock at my window,
And i know that they
haven't forgotten me.

My circle is precious,
So few and so little,
But my friends are all
I've got,  you see.

So when they bring me
Gifts of whiskey,
Beer and the joy of
Conversation,

I'm always the one to
Respond in kind
And usually with
Much stronger libations.

I know what you think
But we will still drink
We're all cases for a shrink
But we will still drink
We'll be filthy, we'll stink
But we will still drink
In our ears, constant clink
But we will still drink
We can't dance to anything
But we will still drink
Feels like a cult, this our ring
But we will still drink
Our behaviour needs a swing
But we will still drink
Our songs make no ding
But we will still drink
It's fun like it's spring
But we will still drink
Can no longer tell any drink's distinctive sting
But we will still drink
The night has taken us under its wing
But we will still drink
We've had our necks on a string
But we will still drink
We miss half our lives in a blink
But we will still drink
[thanks, J.]
My pen's out of ink
**** it, the night isn't over

sugar-soaked in sepia
our expressions embellished like squashed liquorice
a sticky tattoo on tattered sleeves
an exhibition of adolescence

smiles that split our faces sore
gnawed lips cracking
to reveal chattered gnashers
stained from library coffee and
polished with bargainbin toothpaste

our salted skin doused in *****
and coke – making the memory oh-so sweeter
surrounded by a band of bar-time brothers
lost in an array of technicolour strobes
oblivious to the incoming traffic
and the carcrash they call adulthood

I remember the melody being played
the regular Wednesday swansong
NOW DON'T LOOK BACK IN ANGER

I rarely do

Erratic squirrels
Irresponsibly consume
Fermenting pumpkins.

Somewhere something menacing is happening

Overtaking the mind cantankerous me, here inside the apartment. No longer making plans, exciting friends, hosting

anything

More than a before noon call to maintenance or planned visit from someone else’s friend- concocted thirteen months ago. What has made them so afraid to ever allow themselves to enjoy, the chance at sour or sweet, umami, or something in between vexes these feet under-beat.

Seemingly never to trammel a midnight sidewalk or sweaty cramped R&B/Soul Dance party.

some third floor walk up

4:00a.m.

stranger’s unfurnished creative space

Friday untied to Monday