Drunk Poetry
So
So she says she is sick, sometimes, somehow
So sick she seldom sees sorrow
Sailing sadly, swearing sights so sick
She swears, she spits up; red bile
Blissful bile, bellowed up
Broken, bleeding, belching
Like brains, and innards and chime
To the knees, tendons fall to tiles
To clutch the toilet and give it bile
Tears from eyes, she spews and cries
Cursing all the while
What Is It?
Masses of ice, how sweet the sound. The crisp, crunched feel of bursting ice; crushed diamonds, melting in the acid of your vice. Have tequila, a frozen glass, grind the ice into a salt sea bath. And squeezed lemon, sharp as a razor, as a spinster’s tongue, and a splash of Cointreau adds a dash of fun. Shake it hard, then pour it out into your glass, your well.
Make a wish.
The first tastes nice and bitter-sweet, grips the tip of your tongue,
Weaves all through your veins, to your feet.
Have another that chases through,
Warms the furnace, rattles a window or two.
The third one slides along the avenue, well lined by now, and gets to work.
A glow appears, your inhibitions crumble, your fears,
Take a gentle tumble.
Number four drags from the cupboard your other self,
Jekyll to your Hyde, the truth can’t hide.
Watch yourself bloom is four pours blood into the withered you,
Adieu, adieu.
Number five proves the fact that you’re alive after all,
Not a dreary bore, not an antique doll.
It knocks on splintering doors down deep,
Where out come the demons from their wretched sleep,
So pleased at least to be set free.
Here comes your past;
Self-persecution and mania open their doors,
And the alcohol pries open a few more;
Paranoia, guilt, jealousy, hate,
Ready to rehearse the message of agony, bile, and fate.
Number six adds fuel to the fire.
A party’s down there, raging within,
Your best friends resent you worse than any sin,
You scream in the mirror at your sick reflection,
Consumed by hate and self-rejection.
Accusing wrath;
It’s all coming now,
Like an acid bath, it unpeels old varnish and removes old scabs.
The wounds feel fresh, alive, they sting. . .
They writhe.
Throw down number seven, sing again
Insults awaken from some ancient time,
Spat out again, some antediluvian forgotten crime.
Drag out the dirty linen and all the grime.
It’s too much, it dampens the fire,
Rather than lets it blaze.
The one over the edge; the door slams shut in your brain,
The demons return to their old domain.
Grab another in the hope that you can dance rather than drown, but all you’ve got is slush and sentiment. With tears in eyes, you howl! The party’s over. You’re left with a mess and your pain. Old newspapers, ripped by the rain.
. . . Another drink?
Don’t mind you’ve had nine, a second wind, it feels fine
But as the sunset scorches a blazing exit from the skies,
And just as quickly lays down and dies,
So does the good feeling, pissed off just as fast,
Left with nothing but an empty, dirty glass.
You Are Too Much
You are too much
Your crap
Your taunts
Your slaps
Your fronts
I regret to inform you that in the instance of such
I am forced to resign from my social position of being your crutch
After every fight
My soul hangs drained
And cowers in fright
At the heartbreaking sight
Of a tragic, middle-aged man
Who stands stripped of his might
Whose dignity
Whose integrity
Whose charisma, compassion and very being
Stand lost
In a hailstorm of disrespect
A fist-abusing holocaust
And look what it cost, look what it cost
Take a deep breath and a good look around what it cost
My trust
You took that; it’s gone forever
And the irony is
That this little miss
Never
Did anything wrong but be born
To a self-righteous, bigoted, racist no one
You won
Every time you triumphed with your status, wealth, and size
Every time your ignorant diatribe muted my cries
What fun
There I was, my life barely begun
Unlike you, I’m on my way to being someone
And I’m not sure how many times you’ve said fate did you wrong
Why God gave you a daughter . . .instead of a son
I give up
I pray, take communion, and sip from the cup
Can someone please tell me when things will start looking up?
How is my soul ever to take flight
When instead of no wrong, I can do no right
Not a thing that is oh-so outstanding or good
To bless you and please you like the Lord says I should
It was your responsibility from the day I entered this world
To love, cherish, and care for me
To be a parent the way one ought to be
A resolved adult who knows to love his kin unconditionally
I didn’t ask to be made
I didn’t ask for creation
And I’m sorry our home teems with love deprivation
Didn’t want to be a dad? Well wake up, I’m here
All I need are your finances as long as you’re near
You are not part of my family; that much you’ve made clear
I’m constantly reminded of it
Your fits and your shit
And it’s sad that I’ll always think of you, that much I’ll admit
I’ll remember the days when I clung to your feet
Sobbing and shaking, waiting for the next whack, cuff, or hit
And daddy dearest, I hope that you think of me too
And remember the little girl who once adored you
Your misdeeds have left you alone, your heart battered and blue
Our blood-bond is broken
Our relationships through
So she says she is sick, sometimes, somehow
So sick she seldom sees sorrow
Sailing sadly, swearing sights so sick
She swears, she spits up; red bile
Blissful bile, bellowed up
Broken, bleeding, belching
Like brains, and innards and chime
To the knees, tendons fall to tiles
To clutch the toilet and give it bile
Tears from eyes, she spews and cries
Cursing all the while
What Is It?
Masses of ice, how sweet the sound. The crisp, crunched feel of bursting ice; crushed diamonds, melting in the acid of your vice. Have tequila, a frozen glass, grind the ice into a salt sea bath. And squeezed lemon, sharp as a razor, as a spinster’s tongue, and a splash of Cointreau adds a dash of fun. Shake it hard, then pour it out into your glass, your well.
Make a wish.
The first tastes nice and bitter-sweet, grips the tip of your tongue,
Weaves all through your veins, to your feet.
Have another that chases through,
Warms the furnace, rattles a window or two.
The third one slides along the avenue, well lined by now, and gets to work.
A glow appears, your inhibitions crumble, your fears,
Take a gentle tumble.
Number four drags from the cupboard your other self,
Jekyll to your Hyde, the truth can’t hide.
Watch yourself bloom is four pours blood into the withered you,
Adieu, adieu.
Number five proves the fact that you’re alive after all,
Not a dreary bore, not an antique doll.
It knocks on splintering doors down deep,
Where out come the demons from their wretched sleep,
So pleased at least to be set free.
Here comes your past;
Self-persecution and mania open their doors,
And the alcohol pries open a few more;
Paranoia, guilt, jealousy, hate,
Ready to rehearse the message of agony, bile, and fate.
Number six adds fuel to the fire.
A party’s down there, raging within,
Your best friends resent you worse than any sin,
You scream in the mirror at your sick reflection,
Consumed by hate and self-rejection.
Accusing wrath;
It’s all coming now,
Like an acid bath, it unpeels old varnish and removes old scabs.
The wounds feel fresh, alive, they sting. . .
They writhe.
Throw down number seven, sing again
Insults awaken from some ancient time,
Spat out again, some antediluvian forgotten crime.
Drag out the dirty linen and all the grime.
It’s too much, it dampens the fire,
Rather than lets it blaze.
The one over the edge; the door slams shut in your brain,
The demons return to their old domain.
Grab another in the hope that you can dance rather than drown, but all you’ve got is slush and sentiment. With tears in eyes, you howl! The party’s over. You’re left with a mess and your pain. Old newspapers, ripped by the rain.
. . . Another drink?
Don’t mind you’ve had nine, a second wind, it feels fine
But as the sunset scorches a blazing exit from the skies,
And just as quickly lays down and dies,
So does the good feeling, pissed off just as fast,
Left with nothing but an empty, dirty glass.
You Are Too Much
You are too much
Your crap
Your taunts
Your slaps
Your fronts
I regret to inform you that in the instance of such
I am forced to resign from my social position of being your crutch
After every fight
My soul hangs drained
And cowers in fright
At the heartbreaking sight
Of a tragic, middle-aged man
Who stands stripped of his might
Whose dignity
Whose integrity
Whose charisma, compassion and very being
Stand lost
In a hailstorm of disrespect
A fist-abusing holocaust
And look what it cost, look what it cost
Take a deep breath and a good look around what it cost
My trust
You took that; it’s gone forever
And the irony is
That this little miss
Never
Did anything wrong but be born
To a self-righteous, bigoted, racist no one
You won
Every time you triumphed with your status, wealth, and size
Every time your ignorant diatribe muted my cries
What fun
There I was, my life barely begun
Unlike you, I’m on my way to being someone
And I’m not sure how many times you’ve said fate did you wrong
Why God gave you a daughter . . .instead of a son
I give up
I pray, take communion, and sip from the cup
Can someone please tell me when things will start looking up?
How is my soul ever to take flight
When instead of no wrong, I can do no right
Not a thing that is oh-so outstanding or good
To bless you and please you like the Lord says I should
It was your responsibility from the day I entered this world
To love, cherish, and care for me
To be a parent the way one ought to be
A resolved adult who knows to love his kin unconditionally
I didn’t ask to be made
I didn’t ask for creation
And I’m sorry our home teems with love deprivation
Didn’t want to be a dad? Well wake up, I’m here
All I need are your finances as long as you’re near
You are not part of my family; that much you’ve made clear
I’m constantly reminded of it
Your fits and your shit
And it’s sad that I’ll always think of you, that much I’ll admit
I’ll remember the days when I clung to your feet
Sobbing and shaking, waiting for the next whack, cuff, or hit
And daddy dearest, I hope that you think of me too
And remember the little girl who once adored you
Your misdeeds have left you alone, your heart battered and blue
Our blood-bond is broken
Our relationships through