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we got drunk on pálinka,
that tasted like cheap nail polish
as the day drifted into sleep,
watching mismatched friends
in their twenties
dancing in a garden,
barefoot, and dizzy,
writing silly poems
in each other's hoodies.

i kept thinking about that
horse we brought to life
the whole bus ride home.
wondering
if i really had been on the bus,
or taken a long walk.

i recognised our house,
but the way upstairs was tricky.
thinking it was mine,
i crashed into my housemate's door -
maybe not accidentally.
the more the blur fades,
the more it becomes clear,
i just thought he was cute.

so i folded myself into sleep
before the truth arrived
and made it all too real.
this one is about a blurry night, and a quiet crush.
july 26, 2025
Márk V Jun 6
Drink your beer, I don’t need that,
I need something else, a bit bigger bottle.
Not the yellowish kind, invisible,
or bitter-smelling drink I want,
I need a red drink, one
as red as raspberries.
Or perhaps blood-colored? Because
blood is life.
Maybe if I drink more,
it will give me life, too.

Ask nicely,
maybe I’ll offer you a cup.
If you can explain its meaning,
the whole bottle is yours, but
break it in half, so we share it.
You understand it like I do, that's why you deserve it.
If it tastes strange, drink it slowly,
if your throat's not used to it, endure it,
you’ll get used to it,
your state of mind will help you.

Maybe it intoxicates, but it gives strength,
right?
The others don’t do that,
otherwise every tavern would be full.
Its effect's eternal,
but helpful.
Its size surpasses the rest,
dominance, like from man.
Were you made by the gods?
Is that why your taste's so special?
neth jones May 19
dismember
us meeting in the long dark bar
made of old wooden doors ******* closed
we nerved about conversation and drank
the gruff dense social den drew in
                grew around us                                      
pushing our minds about like
     the ember remains
                                  of a sotted campfire
ploying mother lens
we shuffled into the other
                      cleaved a little and uncleaved
then  tuning out the winters night
we did together leave
Nick Moore May 23
Too much to drink,
Mind
Is
Scrambled,
Resembling
The surface of an ice rink.

A head of aches,
Restless night makes.

Over and over again,
Says my brain,
Never again.

Song, In a Broken Dream, Python Lee Jackson.
Rain Apr 30
Here I am laying on the floor,
Locked all the doors.
I cut and drank,
The ship already sank.

I’ll do it again,
I feel so **** shaken.
Hurting and numb all over,
It would be worse if I was sober.

When they call me to come down,
I’ll drag myself up and wipe the frown.
Won’t be a difficult child,
To my pain, everyone is blind.
David Hilburn Apr 26
So waited...
In human color
The reasons of a fury, to be fated
A wish of service to an ideal, as patience's fulfilment

Clear the worth
Care for a stomached hap
Calls of when, we were the roles of earth
Comes with a friend, to same and laugh

The boding nature
Of a promises jealousy
Toward the final lip, of coming whole to learn
A wish, is for any who would the rise of anarchy

The race of shame, succinct
To the liberty of virtue, a heart of sincerity?
With creation as a name, a place of inclination
With the volition of time, came in words of simplicity

A wager of pomposity:
If a callous form to ethics is to be
Is a legend of redoubt, ours for a clashing lividity?
See the cope, the succor of avid live; collect a hold of identity...
the door is opened wide, when patience is to encourage a heart of harkening, brutality...
Lance Remir Apr 7
I am so drunk
On the bottle named Us
I want to repeat it all
By drowning in the thoughts of you

I want to get washed away
From the pain, the truth
I want to feel that numbness
Chug it all away with that filthy juice

I am stumbling and stuttering
I am a mess, a slouch, an addict
Waiting for a refill
Another cup of memories, please

I laughed, I shouted, I cried
Belligerent in the eyes of others
As I'm lost in only yours
Passing out alone 

The bottle emptied again
Not a drop of love left
And as I sober up, I realize
I am still hungover for you
Thomas W Case Mar 23
I had been sober for
awhile and was getting that
itch to drink.
I couldn't recall the
degradation and misery of
the last drunk a few months
earlier.

It was spring, and I was standing
outside of the flophouse, I was
staying at.
Just then, a big sunflower of
a woman walked by.
"Hi Jenny," I said.
We had a past.
Not much of one though.
It resembled a Dali painting that
had been soaking in the rain.

We ended up in a motel with a
bottle of Absinthe.
Jenny wasn't much of a drinker,
No problem, more for me.
Jenny wasn't much of a
conversationalist, and half-lit on
robust *****, neither was I.
I walked around the room talking
about Hemingway and Van Gogh,
Fitzgerald and Picasso.
Jenny wasn't interested in them.
She wanted me to score her some dope.

She said, "If you want this *****, you
will buy me an eight ball."
I didn't.
I wanted to write, but I was too drunk.
We wanted different things and neither
of us
found them that night.
And later at about 3 am when I got
up to ****, I could have sworn I saw the
picture of Van Gogh on the box of Absinthe
laughing.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xSKnZMnMlTw
Here's a link to my YouTube channel, where I read poetry from my recently published books, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems and It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse, both available on Amazon.

www.thomaswcase.com is my website.
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