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eugenisms Jul 2022
1
I get drunk on your memories
Like rhum, bittersweet
You lips taste like morning hangovers
But still
I couldn't quit
neth jones Jun 2022
Man enters the tavern                            
Claps down some cash and outbursts ;
                                                       'Thirsty Things Firstly !'
The barman evaluates his condition      
And provides a session brew

Man tilts toward potential company
(a ferrety bloke in the shadows)
"Pull up that stack of milk crates        
                 And halve a heart with me"
(he earns a quick friend                      
                         in a tolerant stranger)

Soon fellow gaspers fill out the gloom
And an eve of humour descends
Though soon upending
Gourds downed the gullet
Sunk ugly into the scene
The tippling wit drags the night
              to the Slurry Pit

things turn Psychologically Rugged
his Mates soon round on him
bulldozing at the Elbows
saying he's a Cheapskate
they Berate him with rigorous Rattleprat
he's been goated with the Cain's mark
they tousle his crown malicious
Thorough in his cups and eaves
he mumbles and leaves
heaving up bile words
unheard              
gurgle
over
his
shoulder

outside is dark and harsh
Outside the whole wild world does wail and weary
drunkenly
he sings to match its melancholy
but sadness lifts with his altered view
he sees 'a flock of moons' weigh down the sky
and natures churn                                    
                     makes a phosphorescent stew of it all
... decay                        
                 to lifes' celebration
'to see a flock of moons' is an old saying meaning drunk

USES PARTS FROM PREVIOUS POEMS

decay to life (first part)

the scentless winter over
snow melts            
evacuates into the ground                        
                   under Spings attention

Springs arrival elevates mood
alleviates the heart halved by Winter

our strained eyes are relieved
                                  with the dismissal
of reflective snows

'thirsty things firstly' ;
from the groundswell and sponge
the air is steeped with earth ;
decay to life
Odd Odyssey Poet Jun 2022
Wasted sober thoughts, prays the hardest without
picking a religion. Sounds as a Muslim, playing Christian.
But just a name; as their friends were pointing and teasing.
All the good days you claim; aren't the ones for the missing.

Wasted sober thoughts, made myself out of made up
thoughts. Make yourself a hero, just to save your worth.
A cape on too tight; squeezing the air out of my neck,
as my delusional depressions is still the only threat.
Bags under my eyes; not tiredness, but all the luggage of
my greatest regrets.

Wasted sober thoughts, my pain is a word I can't explain,
down under like the lowest writes. I must be sad again.
Swept under my head, deeply thinking into my grave.
And I express them well, when I'm feeling a strike of brave.

When I’ve got my fill of wasted sober thoughts,
intoxication to be expressing my unread words.
Do you read me or not; copy or roger this lot?
It's of no fault of your own, just a poem I've written
out of my lows. I'm intoxicated by words.
Nicole Apr 2022
Kiss me when you're sober
I'm not the one in your head
If it weren't for the boozes
I wouldn't have tasted your lips

I've never smoked a cigarette
but I felt like I did,
for a hundred times now
this still feels different

Next time I wish you would
Kiss me when you're drunk
A taste you'd never stop chasing
Though high of ardent spirits
I wish you'd call out my name
leechyna Apr 2022
"What's your flex😳😳??"
"What's your flex😣??"
He repeats
All my life
I was a wanderer
Here and there
Money was my thing
Girls were my co-living thing

But I saved 4 people with my clumsy love
The door opens☺️☺️☺️
Go home
Go save others with love
kate cc Apr 2022
At the heights of a Surrey valley
is where I stand alone.
The clouds roll in with attempted suppression,
wuthering, as one may say.
Yet they succeed and I do not.

All this vacantness on the moors,
in turn: suffocation.
All this gale of violence and madness,
not a single shiver,
but a private, intense burning sensation.

Would it set fire to the moors, the libraries,
and the red curtain theatre?
Or would it melt the defendant themselves?
I wish for the former,
yet I am already melting.

I put my hand on the gnomon-less sundial,
and still I stand alone
drunk on the all-consuming emotions
inflicted by these brick walls
or rather the crowds of unpredictability within them.
much less thought put into this one than the previous. this one's more of a go-with-the-flow led by my emotions during my writing session.
Josh Cheshier Mar 2022
Words without
Unspoken truths
Cut in neat pieces
Sharp like knives
Plunged deep into yesterday’s drivers seat
Intoxicated
The sweetness of wine
Time took hold
Tastes grew old
Drank straight with ice
A barrel aged whiskey with bite
Involuntarily, my body shakes
Like it was trying to run away from the feeling
“I didn’t know you would make me so drunk”
Stumbling and fumbling with my keys
Scratched drivers side door
Attempts to unlock what shouldn’t be
It left chips in the paint
“F*ck” murmured beneath my breath
The engines low rumble grumbled and sang
A stereo left on too loud came alive when I turned the key
Busted eardrums, slow trickle, ears that bleed
Silence spoke the loudest after that
The nights drive turned sideways
Cherry red lights matched with blue
I could outrun them if I tried
Pressed petals in between pages
Pushed gingerly to the floor
The speedometer creeped to new heights
That annoying flashing brightness followed me
Threat to freedom and a refusal to give in
Twist and turns
The chase ensues
I finally feel like I’m gaining distance
Little was known, encroaching on a dead end
Blew past a warning sign
Wrapped my car around a tree
Crimson red soaked shirt
“Why is my face wet?”
A steady stream of life giving fluid pumped through a **** in my forehead
Dizzy, it made me dizzy.
I sat and waited, not for help
But for time to be taken away
I understood that sometimes a mistake is made, and I can pay the price with iron clad bracelets and a night spent on a bench for a bed.
You taste like wine and then bit like whiskey, when all I wanted was coffee black on a crisp summer morning with the sun rising up to meet a lovers lust in my eyes.
I know this feeling all to well
Waking up liver hurting like hell
So i reach for the bottle
The only thing I know will help
Reach out. There is hope. You can live a normal life again free from your addiction.
Ron Gavalik Mar 2022
You are the elixir
of overworked men
a companion
for lonely souls
and a boxing ring
for the fighting spirit
Your camaraderie
leads to immediate
regret
but such pain
forces peace
in the new day
CIN Mar 2022
I'd like to say i'm doing better
That i'm being productive or feeling good
But mostly i just feel tired
And think about seeing them again
I had a dream about them last night
I decided one day to just fly out and visit them
Seeing them again was surreal
Like eating after starving for days
Or breathing after choking for so long
We embraced and i felt my heart stutter
My smile bright like moons
And for a while i was drunk on their presence
Wanting to only be with them
And thus spurred a realization within me
I love them
More than anything i love them
Platonic, romantic, neither
It doesn't matter
I love them
This is all i know
this must be more than just care
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