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alcohol goddess Aug 2015
I am searching,
let that be known.
Searching for a lost goddess,
nursing her ***** bottle.
I would recognize her,
even if she looked nothing like herself.
Because she would be
the one with her head held high,
even though she can barely walk.
She would be the one,
whom you thunk knows nothing of pain.
But think again,
or even better,
search for a bottle of ***** marked with red lipstick.
I was absent for some while, searching for myself as the poem says. Finally, i found the goddess.
Caitlin Aug 2015
There is not enough ***** in the world
to help me forget the feeling of your skin on mine.
The burn in my throat is nothing
compared to the sting in my heart.
The innocent kisses,
are the ones that hurt the worst.
we decided after 4pm it wasn't day drinking but its 3:53 pm.
Yes, I'm listening to mayday parade again.
You shouldn't have kissed my nose.
mokitovice Aug 2015
It was ***** and cranberry juice
City lights and long night kisses
late night talks and his hands around her waist
holding her,  like she always wished
alcohol goddess Jul 2015
I am a gypsy wanderer.
The only home
I have ever known
Is my body.
And I destroy it.
Those like me
Can never have a home.
So I fill my lungs
With cigarette smoke,
My skin with scars
And my blood with *****.
Elise Jul 2015
drunk mistakes
only lead to sober regrets
i hate who i am drunk
yet i keep going back
to that bottle
that burns my throat
like the words you said
when we woke up next to each other
naked in bed

the bottle
that soothes me
like the way your hand runs down my back

the bottle
that comforts me
like the way you hold my hand

the bottle
that i fell in love with
just like when i fell in love
with you
Sara Jones Jul 2015
Those who don't use chasers with *****
Have learned the sting of putrid love
celey Jul 2015
i hate my ***** stained shirt
it reminds me of wasted alcohol
it reminds me i can't get wasted at all
Anne Johnson Jul 2015
i’ve been feeling nauseous for a very long time
and yeah, i’ve been on a diet of hate and ***** for a while
but not that type of nauseous
queasy everywhere but my stomach
a calm boat in a tumultuous sea
its like everything is off balance
like someone cut off my hand
and only just told me
its early and my breath still tastes like *****
theres something about the hard edges of the drink that mellow me out
but thats not entirely true
because im awake at four in the morning writing this
but i don’t remember what its about
and i guess poems written at four in the morning when you’re drunk off your *** aren’t supposed to make sense
but i kinda wanted this one to
it was probably going to be some romantic love poem that ended really angrily
but truth is
sometimes your absence hurts more than anything
and when i go reaching for you
i fall on my ***
and when i go to climb into your lap for comfort
all i find is a closed door and an occupied sign
like this is an airplane
and we’ve been airborne for five hours
but im on land
we are both on land
you’ve never even been on a ******* airplane
and these metaphors aren’t going to replace you
they aren't going to ease the ache I feel every time I hear your name
and pretending they will just makes it worse
and pretending makes me turn to this same ******* bottle of *****
and it was full two weeks ago
and now there's barely a mouthful left
Last week I got an urge to lay on a rooftop, and drink ***** under the stars,
so I packed an empty backpack with svedka, a notebook, and a cellphone; and went on a mission.
I spent an afternoon looking around.
Taking notes on how in the hell, I could get up to a place that was flat, a roof, and could see the stars.

As it turns out,
the rooftops are not a place Freeport wants you to be.

in fact, one staircase directly leading to the top of a building specifically said
"No Trespassing"
Keeping me out with a locked metal door.

so I kept adventuring.

It did not occur to me until after I had already spent quite awhile scribbling down notes on locations of
milk crates I could use,
ledges low enough to grab,
dumpsters I could maybe move over just a bit,

how illegal it may be,
(I'M still not sure)
Or how dangerous it may be
(probably quite very)
To go on this adventure.

I texted a beautiful girl and asked if she wanted to drink ***** under the stars.

being the suave romantic that I am,

Having spent my whole morning surveying different routes to the rooftops.

Having planned out such a storybook evening, obviously her answer was,

"nah, I'd rather stay home, smoke ****, and watch the new season of Orange is the new black."

*******, Ruby Rose...
Stop. stealing. my dates.

After introducing myself to a handful of other potential candidates, I finally find a woman who believes climbing onto a rooftop and drinking ***** would be a swell time.

By the time I pick her up and get back to the spot,
it's late enough that Freeport is a ghost town.
We run down the middle of the street, me dragging her, doctor and companion style towards the first flawless plan:

Milkcrates behind linda beans.

We stack them up like steps and walk up to the top of a metal ceiling
Affixed perfectly above a flight of stairs that leads to the top floor.
I thought, "maybe we could climb the metal ceiling like a ramp."

it turns out
that not only is it
incredibly difficult not to
fall off of a slanted flimsy ramp
with no handles. But it is also: Terrifying!

Eventually I make it to the top and realize:
"****, There is still a tall ledge I have to hoist myself onto"
I look down to the short brunette quivering
on the ramp's lowest tier and decide that there is no way either of us were going to make it.

"Hey rose, " (That wasn't her real name)
Let's try a different way up.

attempting to crawl down slowly,
my **** scoots forward, hands behind me,
I slip and start gliding down like a children's slide.
flailing and attempting to catch myself before
falling off the edge and plummeting onto a dumpster.

(Whistling noises)

Thud!

She screams.
I laugh uncontrollably.

She slowly descends our statuesque landmark milkcrate staircase.
Like an angel coming from ghetto heaven.

I lift myself up and hop down off the dumpster.

putting my backpack down,
I check to see if the ***** bottle is okay.
It's fine.

"Good job, *******."
"We're fine."
"You're an idiot."
"I could have died, don't I at least get a kiss or something?"

She gives me a disapproving look, then kisses me.

eventually we did
make it up to a rooftop,
Where we laid and watched the stars.
They were warm, distant, and beautiful.

I liked feeling their glow on my skin.
But I loved taking the journey to meet them.
some people can’t handle hard liquor because “it’s too strong.”
you’re the human version of ***, *****, whiskey…
don’t water yourself down.
find someone that can handle you at 100% proof.

— @beeyroyce.
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