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Àŧùl Mar 2019
I visited the same beach,
The beach of our sobriety,
It's there in my memories.

I touched & felt there the sands of time,
The time that we spent in togetherness,
It's a time in that recycle bin of the past.

I shall forget you forever, soon,
This tide of time will help me,
It's going to immerse that sand castle.

I let my ship find her angel,
The angel of my dreams,
It's not long before I touch her.

I see myself visiting her lands,
The lands of beauty and Bihu,
It's just that I realized ships must sail on.
My HP Poem #1738
©Atul Kaushal
Ingram Mar 2019
I was told I need to talk to someone,
a therapist
because I’m drowning in the bottle;
my terrorist.
I have feelings I can’t explain,
the anxiety
And now I have to take steps towards
my sobriety.
I don’t know how I got to this place,
I’m lost.
All the hiding at the expense of those I love,
my cost.
I need to let it hurt,
the pain.
Or this terrorist will forever be there,
my chain.
Amanda Kay Burke Feb 2019
Cravings for a hit
Hints of sin begin within
Winning bit by bit
Cravings are the worst
Astraea Feb 2019
you are as smooth
as *****
a deadly sin
that brings me
temporary inebriation

your lust is whiskey
setting me ablaze
as you leave your
kisses on my body

but it is your love
that renews me
into sobriety
Kelsey Feb 2019
What happened to the days
When I could be
Unapologetically me
Liquid confidence and *******
Not afraid
Of anybody’s judgements
Numbing the pain
But now I’m sober and
I’m stuck with just myself
Can’t break free from the discomfort
Of being trapped in my own skin
Insecurities and inhibition
Flowing through me like
A toxic injection
But I’m healthy and
My ****’s in line
Why can’t I give
Credit where it’s deserved
Instead I focus on the
Road that lies ahead
Rather than
How far I’ve trudged
Uncertainty trembles with
Every word
So ******* awkward
And everyone heard
Obsess about it for
Hours on end
As if this cycle of thought
Can somehow change
The way things happened
I tell myself
That nothing could be worse
Than being slave
To a substance
But something’s gotta change
Someone, somewhere
Teach me how to be sane
Or I’ll pick up that shovel
And start digging again
Cody Cooke Feb 2019
Bottles of alcohol squat on the counter, and cigarette butts
like yellow dead June bugs on the floor.
Bottles of shimmering reasons to not care about a hangover,
to leave prom early and rejoice in your parent’s absence.
Glistening necks, elegant glass nubs with no cap
tipped up into mouths screaming proud and hoarse,
We are STUPID! And CONTAGIOUS!
our ***** voices breaking under the radio sound
to a loud song whose generation no longer cares.
But we do, dumb boys and girls in a truck, rolling around town
like Haylee’s bottle of Jack Daniels in the trunk—
aimless, optimistic, and looking for reasons, so
buy a pack at the Chevron and let’s go smoke!
That’s enough, after all, isn’t it?
Reason enough to crack the windows, find a Carlyss backroad,
waste away midnight and half a tank of gas.
Still, as I drive on, a 90s rock station stimulating rotation of the spliff,
that smell puts my mind out of guitar solos and into placid hallways,
Smells Like a night in my dad’s apartment,
the stubbly couch with the nicotine blanket,
the Marlboro tone in the air, concrete crumbs and a lighter’s grating chrrt.
Divorce sounds like alcohol—
a word that burns, something sterilizing and for adults only.
But I don’t care, it’s my turn on the spliff,
and the backseat of my truck sounds more Alive
than the old horror movie rentals he would put on.
And why should I worry about what sobriety means
when we’ve been planning this night for months now?
All stocked up on Bacardi and Smirnoff Ice, Captain Morgan’s, Svedka, Mike’s Hard,
Swisher Sweets wrapped up in the **** bag—
We shoot our ***, soldiers eager to start the war,
that war against a domestic unknown enemy,
an enemy dangerous and subversive, like sober-minded aspirations.
And while Zack rolls the blunt, while Jack finds his Camel pack,
while you ask for a hit of Haylee’s cigarette,
I fill a glass with water, my intention to hydrate
exactly as genuine as my intention to forget about it.
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