#flask
Table
of wood.
On it,
a gift.
I got it from a conference
a few days ago.
The glass, colorless walls
of the glass, laminated flask.
The flask being full,
of a substance of red and brown.
First drop.
Revoltion.
Disgustment.
Who would even gift this?
Exertion.
Is needed.
I was told this was supposed to be bliss.
Concentration.
Annulment.
This is why I don't drink caffeine.
Titration.
Untreated.
As tired as I've ever been.
First sip.
An interesting flask.
Of an interesting color.
In it, an even more interesting liquid.
Disgusting, yet intriguing.
Sweet, yet bitter.
Fruit, yet coffee.
Concentrated.
Brand-new, avant-garde
sobering narcotic.
Anaphylactic with a note of plum.
Pristine condition spick-and-span
vessel of disgustingly revolutionary,
incredibly credible,
extraordinarily normalized
reddish brown fluid.
Second slurp.
A bit of an effect,
though it might be a lie.
This concoction is still
disgustingly horrible in taste.
These things never work for me,
so why do I think this one will be any different?
A bit more awake.
My eyes close no more.
This one might be different.
It might make me soar.
Attentive? Yeah, right.
As if I could be!
I'm losing myself in the world
of nonexistent words, of poetry,
and the sounds all just travel
past me without toil
and yet I sit here, chaperoned,
contemplating my soul.
Is the glass half empty or half full?
Hell if I care!
I'm falling too deep
and drowning in the drops;
I should stop now.
The taste's not even that good!
It repulses me with its revolting repugnance,
resembling only the rebellious smugness
of the black
seedy
dry and horrific
sweet
and sour, and bitter
substance THAT IS MINE
NO, YOU CANNOT TRY
(and the content is gone)
IT IS ALL MINE, the repugnant - ugh - and unnaturally natural - gah -
reddish brown liquid of
pro-awake
con-sleep
wakeful psychedelic
attentive fruit
So nice and moist and - GOD it tastes horrible
I'm gonna be tasting this for a few more hours
Such a horribly, desiccated sensation of disrelish
That yet, somehow, keeps me awake more than any
Beverage of vigor
Goblet of black ink
Carbonated potion of saccharine delight
Or bar of unending animation
But addicted? ME!?
You have no right to say such untruths!
Addicted I amn't; far from it in fact!
I am what I am, and that I know well,
and as much as I'd wish for it to be true,
addicted I'm not, you all can go to hell!
And as far as I'm concerned,
although it may seem false,
no one but me has tried this,
so don't engage in these brawls!
SHOULD YOU KNOW WHO I AM,
AND WHAT I HAVE DONE,
YOU WOULDN'T HAVE SAID
HALF THE THINGS YO-
.
.
.
Table,
wood.
On it,
gift.
Received
at a place.
A glass
flask.
Empty,
yet full.
I drank,
and I filled.
A void
where it spilled.
Nov 15, 2025
Nov 15, 2025 at 10:03 PM UTC
Drink Flask
See the drink flask there on the desk
A boring blue in colour
Slightly scratched and dinted
Well used by the owner
Made to look normal
Like it was just a flask
To carry coffee or juice
Drink it while you eat
Your dinner in work
Or sandwiches out hiking
The things of a normal world
All illusion soon to change
For this contains no drink
Not in the normal sense
It contains a virus from a lab
If the lid is removed
Other things done
And released free
We are all in trouble
Apr 23, 2022
Apr 23, 2022 at 5:44 PM UTC
so much mystery surrounding me
so much inner journey I am bound to be
taking on in the future, so insecure about my future
but truck along fiending for gas, I take it day by day with a little sass
still don’t drink coffee and you can hold the flask
so trying to outrun the trauma from my Dad
it's a tough pill to swallow and that’s usually no issue for me
thank god I traded all that for **** I always was attracted to green
aquamarine baby, no march aries
pisces like the koi fish coasting on the crystal blue water
evolving, healing stuck in the past no longer
moment by moment, touch by touch, hands entwined
friendship showed me love
Mar 20, 2022
Mar 20, 2022 at 10:40 AM UTC
All are dancing slowly
This masquerade
A gala
Yet
All is in great discord
Among the orchestra
One is out of tune
Yet
None seem to care
To hear the broken melody
See the chip in the stone
Cover it up
With a little paint
None shall tell
Besides the meek little pup
Soon it shall faint
One shall yell
While the rest
Ring, ring, ring the bell
Dancing in discord
To the broken melody
Pulling out a flask
‘Neath the rows
Folk chatter and ask,
“Isn’t something off?”
While the other throws,
“Neigh!” then one does quaff
Shine a light
Alone the floor
Hold one tight
For one shall sing no more
Grasp it
So one may not fall
That she would not permit
Not a’tall
Sing, sober dream
Whisper your whims
Through a beam
On a limb
The lullaby
Child doth cry
Sing, sober dream
Sing, sing,
For ‘tall must end
One day.
- Jay M
September 12th, 2019
Sep 12, 2019
Sep 12, 2019 at 1:14 PM UTC
dancing on my tippy toes,
staying silent
never smiling
crystal tears
broken hearts
dancing on my tippy toes
i can not speak, my voice is lost
i can not smile, its wiped away
i always cry, why do i always cry?
this love broke my heart
dancing on my tippy toes
because the shatterd glass all spead out
on the cold, tiled floor
dancing on my tippy toes
who knows?
getting pricked, poked and impaled by the glass,
downing whats in my flask
its just my way to mask
whats left of my broken heart
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC
by Arcassin Burnham
I'll stay with you in this line if you want me to
flashing images in my head makes me think
that i am dead and possibly unable to comprehend,
I'll be what you want to be at the end of the day
you kiss my cheek and bush my skin with your hands,
pays attention to my glance without the decorative sin,
I'm floating off into the abyss of fracturing skulls,
as i brake mine i see the mountain that crumbles
and falls with the swing of my arms and the rhythm
in my steps and the flask that i drink in my hands where
the blood comes from my finger tips,
it wouldn't last,
while waiting in this long line.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC
I'm Leaving now
let this be a lesion
To all who think that words don't matter
How could you look her in the eyes say you love her
she knows you lie
why not come clean what's the point
all she wanted was for you to try
burry her in the finest silk
tell her she's beautiful before her make up begins to wilt
all she wanted was for something to be real
Now she's gone what will you say
to the mother that walks your way
You smile again but it biter sweet this time
When a daughter takes her own damb life
tell her she's pretty, take her out to eat, dance with her
let her stand on your feet
don't turn your back and pull out a flask
all she wanted was for something to last
I'll make this quick you wont have to stay
close your eyes and float away
go to her it will be ok
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 9:27 PM UTC
Hanging turtles and
Netted birds of amenity
Dangle from her
Left hip like jewels ‘neath a,
“Ming,” ear as she traverses
Mountains beholden kitchens
And one more rise come setting splendor.
Supper may be atop the right, pelvis,
But opposite and left,
Rests the flask, bitter in chase of sanity.
I’m sure the scant pebble
Rattling in between
Her stomach and sorrow
Was nothing more than
A desperate thirst opposed the
Blister born benevolence,
Thirst opposed execution
And a coin converted spirit opposed,
“Xie xie,” (thank you), a platitude,
As heads clip pavement,
Blood pales a gutter,
Or soon-to-be feast’s final throes,
A bleeding and breeding for other,
Leading jitter-beholden mice to flee,
For they may be next
So future’s victuals arrive
Unhindered.
All and assumptive, assistance and rendered,
She walks away with only this –
Everyone’s emaciated
And the butcher on the street is still a butcher,
A peddler, a savior, and butcher again;
A source, be it left, right or wrong,
In need of a drink, as we all are,
With only the means, “take me to the sip,”
And by dollar come pocket born you.
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC