#alcoholics
The choking vines of the wine yard,
Wrap around the souls of the somber.
Staring off into space,
While a chemical feeling seals their fate.
Do they feel happy yet?
Something more than the happiness they lost,
Was it right, to push love away?
In replacement they have a craving,
A welcomed feeling of demanding.
Their kisses curdle into bites,
Ripping chunks out of who they love,
Tearing holes into their head.
Jun 9, 2025
Jun 9, 2025 at 10:39 AM UTC
The embankment is a river
of bottles in the sun
I've held them and I've kissed them
every single one
Feb 12, 2024
Feb 12, 2024 at 6:45 AM UTC
Death and I are drinking a beer
while writing the words
to a love song that you'll never hear
We have scripted your eulogy
although you are alive
Its because you are dead to me
Buried inside my lungs
never to be spoken of
cut off from my tongue
You were the living poison
only killing yourself
with all your pathetic reasons
Because Death and I
are better friends
than you and your lies
I'd rather drink myself to Death
and be his best friend
than be close enough to feel your breath
Aug 22, 2020
Aug 22, 2020 at 2:51 PM UTC
There's dirt under my fingernails
There's pen marks on my hand
I don't know how they got there
I just don't understand
I'm curled up in a corner
My stomach is tied in knots
There's something crawling in my throat
I can't connect the dots
I've lost the feeling in my arm
From clutching it to my head
Crying up the distance
That they should have made instead
Faintly in the backdrop
They simmer in something mean
I wash my hand with soapy water
But the marks can still be seen
All I hear are glasses
They smash towords the floor
All I smell is putrid gas
From the night out just before
I'm getting kind of sleepy
And we're past the midnight mark
But it's difficult to dream
When the dreams you made are dark
But nontheless I'm sleeping
I move but make no sound
And I wake up in the morning
There's empty bottles all around
I don't know what happened to you
Because the laughter falls like sand
But there's dirt under my fingernails
And pen marks on my hands.
- Anisah Mariah
Mar 16, 2020
Mar 16, 2020 at 1:11 PM UTC
To the bright-eyed girl who didn't understand a thing
Not because she didn't care,
But because she didn't need to
Instead of perfume,
her mother covered herself in whiskey.
Instead of cologne,
her dad wore *****
And it wasn't a tragedy,
it was simply normal.
Until she realized that ****** fists and slamming doors
had no place in a home.
And that maybe
just maybe
her house was never really a home.
Because ignorance is bliss.
And if you don't understand
that some things are right
and some are wrong
everything is still just okay
To the bright-eyed girl who didn't know
that her childhood was ripped away
until it was too late
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 8:47 PM UTC
I forget about it most of the time
But then I hear a door slam
Or a glass break
And I'm thrown back into the tidal wave
Reaching
Grasping
Begging
To make it back to shore
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 11:32 AM UTC
Destiny is determined
There'll be no eternal bliss
Fate was sealed with it's fatal kiss
No longer thinking for yourself
Letting it's calling
Be your compass
Surrendering your mental fortitude
Allowed it to be broken down
From a constitutional latitude
Diagnosed as terminal
Malignant raging attitude
Againgst all humanity
Expressed in displays of moral turpitude
Hope's light is fading
Darkness moving in
The battle is waged daily
Never seen but alone
The screams are empty
From a voice without sound
For this battle is my own
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 6:58 AM UTC
I always thought I knew what cologne smelled like.
It was harsh and made my eyes water and nose burn.
All I knew is that my dad wore it religiously.
I always thought my dad wore cologne.
I was ten years old when I learned what whiskey smelt like.
I was sixteen years old when I took my first sip of whiskey.
It was weak, mixed with diet coke, but it still left my throat burning.
I never liked the taste, but when I brought the cup to my nose and smelt the bitterness and I saw the eyes of my father, I knew that the smell was so much worse.
It was that moment when I understood why people drank to forget.
That night I closed my eyes and I saw the black label of Jack Daniels Whiskey, I saw the long brown paper bags that my dad hid in the cupboards, I saw the coke cans littered around our trash can.
I was too young to understand, but with whiskey running through my own veins I connected each individual dot like each sign a constellation.
I set the cup down and winced.
My friends laughed, of course.
They didn’t know.
They’d never even guess.
They probably thought I was a lightweight, a girl who couldn’t even handle a sip of whiskey.
I smiled, too.
I don’t think I’ll ever drink whiskey again.
Dec 16, 2017
Dec 16, 2017 at 11:40 AM UTC
I always thought I knew what cologne smelled like.
It was harsh and made my eyes water and nose burn.
All I knew is that my dad wore it religiously.
I always thought my dad wore cologne.
I was ten years old when I learned what whiskey smelt like.
I was sixteen years old when I took my first sip of whiskey.
It was weak, mixed with diet coke, but it still left my throat burning.
I never liked the taste, but when I brought the cup to my nose and smelt the bitterness and I saw the eyes of my father, I knew that the smell was so much worse.
It was that moment when I understood why people drank to forget.
That night I closed my eyes and I saw the black label of Jack Daniels Whiskey, I saw the long brown paper bags that my dad hid in the cupboards, I saw the coke cans littered around our trash can.
I was too young to understand, but with whiskey running through my own veins I connected each individual dot like each sign a constellation.
I set the cup down and winced.
My friends laughed, of course.
They didn’t know.
They’d never even guess.
They probably thought I was a lightweight, a girl who couldn’t even handle a sip of whiskey.
I smiled, too.
I don’t think I’ll ever drink whiskey again.
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 6:53 PM UTC
I never understood how someone could drink
How someone could throw away their life for a single sip of whiskey
How they consumed what they knew could **** them
But then I'd lay in bed for hours on end
And those hours became days
Days became months
Months became years
A never-ending cycle of torment
And some way
Somehow
I understood
Dec 16, 2017
Dec 16, 2017 at 11:25 AM UTC
When my friends think about drinking they see parties, and wild nights, and crazy hangovers
And when I tell them I never plan on letting a sip of alcohol touch my lips, they're scandalized
Because they don't understand
How could they ever?
When I think of drinking, I think of my mom passed out underneath our Christmas tree
Or my dad swerving down side streets with the smell of whiskey wafting off of him like smoke from a campfire
I see my childhood that came crashing down in front of my eyes
I see something that they will never understand
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 9:13 PM UTC
one
Be gentle, because they don’t know any better. I know that you’re the child, and I know that you’re scared, and I know that it isn’t your job to be gentile or kind but I also know that being gentile is easier than being angry.
two
Make sure to give up your heart and soul first. Take your feeling and put them into a box, and shove that box far away because God knows that they’ll only heart them anyways.
three
Read well and often. Send your mind into a new, completely different world for a little while. You need it. We all need it.
four
Learn how to be distant. Learn how to love from afar. Being close will only hurt more in the long run.
five
The most important part of loving an alcoholic is loving you first. You are not your parent’s mistakes. You are not what caused them to break so harshly that they turned to a bottle rather than a book, a drink rather than their daughter.
I learned how to love an alcoholic before I learned to love myself. And to this day, I’m still learning.
Oct 22, 2017
Oct 22, 2017 at 9:36 PM UTC
I grew up drowning in whiskey.
I grew up quickly.
I grew up alone in my thoughts.
And now when I look in the mirror and see myself,
I know that I hardly grew up at all.
Oct 22, 2017
Oct 22, 2017 at 8:55 PM UTC
A complicated concept
Dumbed-down
For even a weak mind
To easily interpret
It's more than just
"understanding" they get
These weak minds,
Seemingly, flock to it.
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 4:13 AM UTC
**you stand in line
for liquid bread
with your thin dime
newspaper matress
you lick your lips
a cardboard box
will.be your crypt
sad
forsaken
so forlorn
your façade is *****
tattered
worn
the gold was stolen
from your vaults
passersby see only faults
the picket fence
around your heath
is as broken
as your teeth
the many choices
you have made
have sunk you to
an early grave
you're self-abusive
destruction bent
*your temple is a
TENEMENT***
SoulSurvivor
(C) 6/17/2016
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 6:44 PM UTC
Tendrils of black embrace my vision,
Like branches splintering through;
My eyes blink rapidly in response,
Yet they remain no matter what I do.
My hands tear at my face's canvas,
Which is long-stained with tears;
Recently, blood has intermingled with them,
A result of my fears.
I'm wiping away the moisture,
So they won't see my pain.
But my skin is coming off in my hands,
Like a thick, ****** rain.
It's impossible to hide it longer,
It has consumed me so;
The next person to glance at me,
Will instantly know.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
it's kinda ******
you don't really have a choice
you know like AA
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
2 A.M. is for the poets
who can't sleep because
their minds are alive
with words for someone
who's not there
2 A.M. is for the alcoholics,
drinking themselves to amnesia
to forget someone who left
2 A.M. is not for the lovers,
asleep in each other's arms.
It is for the lonely,
the ones who are in love
with the loved but are
not loved in return.
– billiondays
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 2:07 PM UTC