9 | Heartbreak in Hatfield

Find me somewhere between old and cliché Tumblr poems and filtered Instagram pictures.
It was just yesterday when we were worlds apart when your ex-boyfriend broke your loving heart.
You eventually began smoking again and drank wine and vodka like there was a message in the bottle.
But I can’t judge you for all the things that you did because I was right there by your side comforting you.
I took an Uber from the CBD all the way to Hatfield just to find peace of mind and get some closure from you.
All this time I have been hoarding the memories we made like there is a black hole I’m trying to fill.
I wonder if I’ll ever be good enough in the eyes of the people who never appreciated my love.
Within your circle of friends someone knew that you were falling in love with someone new.
But you kept me waiting all this time just so you could let me down like gravity.
I should have realised this a long time ago that pain hurts more when you choose to ignore it.
If only it was so easy to let you go then I would’ve done that a long time ago.
I wanted you to fill my emptiness with requited love but I realised that you were a void too.
Parker Poole Jun 12
Tomorrow I turn eighteen.
I’ve been living my whole life hating the fact that I was born
And I could’ve sworn that I wasn’t gonna make it this far
I’ve done my fair share of harm
I’ve popped bars and I’ve let loose
I’ve downed my weight in vodka and juice
I feel as though I have tried it all,
I don’t have very far left to fall
I’m tired of the world making me feel so damn small
I think this might be my final call
Eighteen years have come and gone,
In a hell that went on for far too long
I don’t think this is where I belong,
And I don’t think I’ll be around to hear my birthday song
emme m Jun 9
why do i like the pain
it's all the same
repeating nights
repeating days
repeating kisses
and repeating shame
feel no ways
vodka bottles and a song by drake
Never ever  I told myself 2 years ago
Never I said to myself 1 year ago
Not happening I told myself 6 months ago
But it happened 3 months ago
And i could always go for more when the opportunity is there
Swallow my nights memories to forget
Waking up remembering a headache
Not this time I said last week
But now this is all I will probably ever seek
Alcohol
A drink that can kill
One shot at a time
Britney Lyn Feb 9
The first time I blacked out I was with you.
I'd never drank in front of you before and I only had a few, but you brought me more.
My intentions were only to forget the shit going on inside of my head.
So three because twelve and the room began to spin,
But not at first.
At first I was light, my body was not my own, I felt this power and you called me beautiful.
I was in total control...
Then, I wasn't.
I laughed loudly and I shouted to speak,
I talked about nothing's and got caught up in the sheet.
I could not walk so I started to crawl, to check my phone, if I'd missed a call.
I started to repeat myself, over and over again.
You realized I was done for and took me to your bed instead.
You laid me down and cradled my face, you shook me to snap me out.
"I'm in control, I've got this, I'm in control, I've got this" repeating, pouring from my lips.
The lips you leaned down and tenderly kissed.
My mind reacted but my lips could not move, they kept talking about control and about you.
"You love him, but he doesn't love you, you love him, but he doesn't love you" repeating, flowing from my mouth.
You left the room, left me alone, you couldn't handle my doubt.
A whole hour later you came back to me, I was still talking, repeating, repeating.
"Nobody loves you, just die, nobody loves you, just die" catching on the breath that left as I spoke.
You sat next to me and on my words I began to choke.
You shook me really hard and smacked at my face lightly.
I came into consciousness and then fell into sleep silently.
Another memory I'm pouring out like the bottle of cheap vodka you remind me of.
Utsav Raj Jan 17
​”I am addicted.
She is my bottle of vodka.
She is my cookie crumbs.
She is the eighth colour of my rainbow.
The colour that’s everywhere,
Except inside the rainbow.
She is my three A.M.
The three A.M. pain I write about,
And the three A.M. calls I don’t make.
She is my happy ever after.
The happy ever after in a fairytale,
In those tales for my three A.M. kid,
In those stories for my four A.M. demons,
In those lullabies for my five A.M. drowsy eyes.
She is my sushi.
She is my ‘one eyelash – one wish’.
She is my 11:11 ‘Wish, please come true’.
She is my cigarette.
Here’s the fucking problem.
I’m addicted.
And she’s my nicotine patch.”
Wind Jan 11
I drowned myself in a bottle of vodka
so I could feel, or not to feel
There are eleven cigarette butts in the trash
so now my room reeks like smoke
It's still better than the smell of blood
Though my brother wasn't too happy
that I stole all his liquor,
he still thinks that the stains in my sheets
are better than the deep red ever was
Even if they're vomit
I'm not sure if I agree
Dakota Jan 4
yesterday i got blood on my jeans
from opening the scrape on my knee
i got three days ago, slipping in the shower,
drunk as hell before noon.
my dad told me to leave the rest of his beer
after i took five in twenty four hours.
i wonder if he realizes how bad i am.
i have to have at least one drink
before i see anyone, just to loosen up.
i drink throughout the day,
not caring what time i start.
my boy expressed concern
about all my empty beer cans.
i decided six hours ago
i would take a break from drinking
but my friend gave me a jelly jar of vodka
and i keep telling her i’ll stop, as i pour another.
“i’m going to not drink for two weeks,”
i say as my speech begins to slur.
how many will be my ‘last drink?’
will i make it two weeks?
will i care? does it fucking matter?
there will always be new blood on my jeans.
b for short Dec 2017
Twenty-nine belts bravery from a bottle.
It feels like all talk and no game.
Twenty-nine has thighs that don't lie
and a finger that motions you
to come closer.
It relearns each facet of love
and finds beauty in its own reflection.
Twenty-nine betters the invention
instead of reinventing it.
It imagines kissing strangers to feel alive and
gifts the pearl to the jewel thief
with no words- only smiles.
Twenty-nine strikes a match
in the middle of a pitch black nowhere,
only to see the smoke twist up and away.
It cracks and hisses when it feels its been forgotten.
It smells like pine needles, orange peel, and sun bleached cotton.
Twenty-nine forgets those who have forgotten it
but thanks them for the lessons.
It likes church but only for the music, architecture, and sociology.
Twenty-nine won't apologize for passion or pity,
but it will drip with empathy at inopportune times.
Twenty-nine steeps itself in scalding water
only to discover its true flavor.
It finds no comfort in the opinions of others
but will only rest at the signal of a nod of approval.
Twenty-nine looks down into the neverending
and can't decide if it wants to jump or run.
It handstitches a parachute
as it dangles one foot over the edge,
says a prayer to no god
but writes hymns that bring tears.
Twenty-nine keeps breathing.
It keeps breathing.
I kissed bottle after bottle
trying to forget how you tasted
next thing that I knew,
man, I was f^cking wasted.

Standing on a table
screaming at the ceiling
like "why the f^ck aren't you here",
and "why'd you f^cking leave me?"

Bottle after bottle
turned into shot after shot
but I can't forget you
no matter what.

I've read all the books
and I've seen all the "how to's"
but not one of them has helped me
get over you.

I'm trying to move on
and I'm trying to be happy
but no matter what I do
I still feel in love with you.
This is an old poem i wrote a while ago and never got around to publishing.
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