"drugs replace love when you're lonely..."
words from an old head who died of an o.d

...rest in peace sobriety,
rest in peace o.g.

Enticing transparency of glass, crafted
sand shaping figure, wide cavity craving
to be filled allowing, oxidation melding
to capture oxygen emanate aromas,

inebriating flavours held by opaque
long stems impeding my consideration, I want
I do not, an automated old recurring gesture
creeping slowly from within, whispering

no harm will come from flowing, burgundy
liquid gold in the abyssal hole where stormy
tides hide ghostly presence, of memories
left behind. Fooling mind in thinking I

am only slightly, braking the rule being
responsible by starting, lightly. It is only
eleven after all and with a drop it’s twelve
before I know. A more appropriate time

to indulge, caressing bottles faithful
lovers pouring to please me, while
viciously they hurt me slithering inside.
I select the self-inflicted idea, that I can deal

I do not, have a problem if I cut, down
that’s just because I want to, not because
I have to. And I am more fun, I can relate
Or at least pretend I do without, feeling

like a fish out of water I can laugh disregarding,
the harm that has been done, to me
of which I am weary. Believe me it is scary.
And as my lips turn purple despite a soothing

taste I don’t like, myself in this state I rather,
run to my refuge where I do. Love humanity
yet know so well, no one will ever care, more
for me than myself. Miss that little girl,

always smiling counting stories, now
shading behind glasses to keep every other
being at a distance. Unable to flout
the Universe’s tendency unlike humans,

to prefer me when I am sober. They don’t
know, how could they, believing they are
worried when they claim I need it, a social
life yet they ignore, how overly populated

is my soul, encompassing them all.

Last drops and I linger regretting
lost hours drowned in wine.

Can't call 911 for this,
I can't save you this time.

Open the curtains for the first time in ages.
The walls weep,
dripping yellow-brown nicotine,
crying brown tears for you.
Carpet stained spots of brown black blood,
a macabre Jackson *******.
Stained, sweat-soaked sheets smell,
the stench of withdrawal and agony.
**** and mold growing on the toilet,
like tiny bonsai trees.

The sun catches your face,
lightly touching a cheek-bone,
saying goodbye in it's own way.
Hazel eyes wide open,
mouth frozen,
a sort of painful grimace.

I want to clean it all away.
I want to scrub every wall,
every moulding,
every inch.
Bleach it all white.
Pull the **** across a giant etch-a-sketch of the scene.
And when it's clean,
When all of it is finally clean...

I will cover every wall like a canvas, with every note you ever left me.
Top to bottom,
wall to wall,
I will paint your words.
When I was away too long and you missed me,
when you wanted to cheer me up,
Or when you just wanted to say,
"I love you".

Clover and Dover
Cliffs and boulders
I shall fall over

Sober to the pinch
Water pours into my sores
Soul is sold

Lifelessness in sobriety
Awake but not alive
The nightmare has arisen fourfold

I sit alone in this garden of many colors,
Flowers bloom beautifully in this warm spring,
Seen through these eyes of mine, it grows duller and duller,
I cast my eyes down, feeling a shamed sting.

This breathtaking scene frustrated with me,
I crept to the center of these dense woodlands,
Moving beneath an ancient blue oak tree,
Grey still all around me, I sat with my head in my hands.

Minutes birthed hours.
Hours birthed days.
Days birthed weeks.
Weeks birthed eternity.

I know not how long I remained under that oak,
But I knew the cascading emotions within would not calm,
I rose to my knees, conjuring up some false hope,
Doing anything that I could to make myself carry on.

I found myself yearning for the poison once again,
I found my soul pleading and begging for another taste,
I felt my very ashes being ground against the grain,
As I locked myself away in solitude, my mind ever on that waste.

Life feels so very grey now,
Every color faded and old,
Crawling on by somehow,
With this heart still ice cold.

Here I still am, and here I will remain,
I wait for my live-giving spark to return,
Praying for an end to this ceaseless hurt and pain,
Praying for the singular want I still yearn.

Color to coat this grey slate.

Reverberating peals resonating thunders
in mind, unsilenceable relentless acute chimes
struck, by hollowing gales unwaveringly carrying
echoes of blemished memories through

the storm, attempting to rescue a forgotten past,
made of laughs and outbursts lost in glasses filled
with tears unshed, by misted eyes weeping only
dry, salted grains of unclear thoughts.

Resounding tinkles of scrambled long
distance calls between, consciousness and will,
conversations repeated over and over, one
speaking truth the other, seductive words

enticing logic with lies even reason struggles
to defy. Mayday ripples in high waters, searching
for flickering beacons, guidance to shore, finding
the strength to blow, dark clouds from the horizon,

switch off lightning and behold, the lighthouse
where unyielding sobriety revels.