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Angela Rose Oct 2019
I am doing so much better without you by my side
And that breaks my heart.
Jillian Jesser Oct 2018
I woke up to screams from a stolen razor.   
Where is it?  
It was a loud scream.          
The end comes swiftly,
anyway,
and,
if there are no razors around,
it comes even faster.                        
 
At the top of the mountain,
the anger flows to the valley,
and there is no scream.                                  
In the valley, we wait.                
There is a pull from a cigarette.                               
Small talk that is not small talk.                                        
A man wheezes   
A woman wonders where she'll go tomorrow                                          
it comes out as a laugh
                  and lightly in the background plays a song that can only be called the disease of the 80's.                                       
 
We didn't need another.                                     

But, thank you.
awknight Mar 2018
the holes in your soul are
filled by the tears that fell
for lessons learned long ago.
the body’s basic desire for healing
creates a hammock for new hearts
craving to become full.  

you stand here, now
cleansed by the fires
of a hell that you didn’t ask for —
burning with the best of us.
Naomi Hurley Jul 2017
it takes
            a special kind of
self loathing
            to reach for a
bottle
            as your eyes are
opening

to begin
            the process of
poisoning yourself
            as darkness
dissipates

blind to the orange
              explosion
the yellow and red hues
              now encapsulating
the sky

the warmth
and radiance of
The Sun
as its rays
blanket my world--

a sensation I willingly
                 betray
a sense of happiness I consciously
                 ignore

as I sit in my
                 dark room

Shot
                 After
Shot

trying to (literally)
d r o w n
my sorrows
that creep up
behind closed eyes
unleashing upon my
mind as lids part

running rather than
                  fighting

choosing to sink
                  when I could be
swimming

The Sun is high
encouraging plants to dance
and animals to wake
and yet I wither
in an enclosed space

my roommate returns
from an overnight shift
to find me

intoxicated
                   inebriated
vomiting
                   in bed

the day is beginning
but my life
                   feels over.

When will I finally see the light?
When I was an alcoholic in denial.
William A Poppen Jan 2017
Faded stains of spilled bourbon
dot the weathered nightstand’s surface
like stars speckle a clear midnight sky
Each commemorates a prop of courage
swigged to help forge another day

Bras, slips, heels and flats
pepper the soiled carpet
reflections of the many
nightly transgressions now
impediments which fleck her soul

Her frontal lobe
harbors distortions
from her past
forgiven by those who know her
forgotten by others

Rain pelts her window
rat-tat, rat-tats against the panes
compulsively splatters the door
flings open her mind
to let today’s downpour
splash away
any trace of her anguish
Blocked in inspiration I am editing previous posts here.  This work was originally called Drops of Compulsion and listed here in 2015.
The problem perhaps is that prisons
have doors,
should people not be pushed through
the bars instead

the tainted parts of the soul strained out
the clean locked in with you

Sentences served would have meaning then
to learn to live with the parts of you

that are pure
Endya Tremese Nov 2015
On my way to rehab
Just one more short day
Till i have to say goodbye
Till i have to go away

Till i have to start a promise
That i know i shouldnt have made.
I promised I'd be better
But that's not as easy as said

I wish it didnt get this bad
I wish that it was better
I wish that I could move on like her
I wish I never m....

No. Thats not true.
I know I'm glad I met you
So I could ****** challenge myself
Trying not to mean that I regret you

And no, I'm not starting over
Consider this a step two
You took my life and ran with it
And I mother ****** let you

I'm glad I couldn't have kept you
Permanent damage, written in red too
I know you're probably sick of me
But I still hope the world will *bless you
Rogers Enemugwem Sep 2014
I feel sober
or am I sore?
I just don't want
to hurt You anymore

it's no surprise
I'm used to the motions now
how I go on a binge
and end up anyhow

then I sober up for a while
till the cravings return
till I need another shot
till I crank up and burn

Dear Lord, I really don't
want to hurt You anymore
please help me to heal
and stay sober, not sore.

Amen
By Rogers "@BroRogers" Enemugwem.
#HealingIsAChoice
James Jarrett Aug 2014
He thought that he had been evicted like a raucous Irishman, late once again on the rent, his belongings and furniture strewn on the lawn
His cold, deadly stare and ruffled red, said the same, with haughty indignation written all over him
As could be expected with any eviction, belongings strewn to the street, it started to rain; large splattering drops falling from the sky with an audible impact, adding insult to the injury
But he was just a child, set free and off to learn on his own, his perch and roost along with his chair, moved to his new home
He had outgrown the large screen porch, which was such a ridiculous place for an Owl anyway
Wood and glen gone, surrounded by girder and screen, locked into the realm of old peoples coffee and cigarettes
Tucked up into the eaves ignominiously, or sitting on the lamp, grooming flesh from his over large and taloned  feet
He would sit silhouetted by the dim red glow of the bulb, relaxing, until a noise would spin his head and he would become hooded and glaring death
The lamp added a glow to his eyes, which already burned with a raptors fire and he would become the personification of evil to the world of prey
Low and crouched, wings slightly spread; he would become the terrifying story that small warm animals tell their children at night to keep them in line and safe
But now he has been moved outside and all of his familiar belongings with him, or most anyways
Now he perches outside, either on the rough, twisted branches near his roost, or his favorite chair, and contemplates late into the night
But it seems that he prefers the comfort of his living room and he rests on the arm of the chair, quiet and pensive in the still and humid darkness
He stares at me while I smoke; the white plumes drifting like iridescent fog into the moonlight, while I observe him from his former home, illuminated by the dim lamp light
His saffron eyes gleam in the darkness, his dark form robed in that of the raptor, wings held down, with the tips outstretched like fingers
He stares at the lamp, standing like a pedestal against the wall and I wonder to myself
Does he want his ****** lamp moved out there too?
Artimus the owl getting moved to his new aviary
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