Drunk Poet


I wanted to drink you a poem, but I’ve had too much to write

I can’t remember the song to the words, and sure as hell can’t rhyme

I’m losing your grasp on reality, as if I had any grip-to begin…

Besides, the Lord says being drunk is a sin, but he’ll just have to forgive

and forget…cuz I’m a crazy poet.

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#alcohol, #humour, #life

White Merlot and Me


photo courtesy of www.sparklingdirect.co.uk

Each morning I wake up and I think, how can I outdo myself and my incredible talent for poetry? (haha) How can I please the reader, take them on a journey, but more importantly, how can I impress my narcissistic self?

It is 11am after all…so, I pour a glass of White Merlot in my fave wine glass and sit down at my laptop to dwell. I pulled the coffee table over toward me more because a girl shouldn’t have to over-reach when stretching to pick up her wine glass.

But then, as I reach for it I notice a pain in my upper left rib. This isn’t highly unusual because it’s an old fracture. However, it freaking hurts today. Then I think back to last night and the proverbial light bulb in my brain goes on. The sex was feverishly hot and a bit rough. The poetry muse begins to tango with her long legs and high heels commanding me to get to work.

#alcohol, #borderline-personality-disorder, #bpd, #creative-writing, #literature, #narcissism, #pain, #poetry, #white-merlot


Locked up extreme inside, locked out he said good-bye. Gather your clothes. I’ll give you time I suppose. He looks at her- hate fills his eyes. Why though? She cries. A menacing stare, a final glare. You’re not good enough for me, his heart screams. Out the door she carries her things. Never to return again. Relationship ends. But is that all? Look at that a new day dawns! She never thought this could be. She watches him from across the street-he runs her way plotting sweet. Swiftly he comes from the bar! Bam! His head- smashed by a car.

#alcohol, #america, #angry, #domestic-violence, #nudity, #sex, #violence


Whatever is a girl to think when groping and fondling these words…a  private act that keeps me from being desperately bored. But, you’re looking at my hands-the perverts, playing like I’m a poet. They search out what can’t be seen and hide out in the trees, just waiting calmly for an opportunity-then, sees it and feels it and grabs it! With treasure in hand she sneaks sneakily along, looking for her study-Down the long dark hall she goes and quietly opens the door… Shades are drawn, what light there is glows dim…her prisoners in tow.                                                                                                                      

#alcohol, #alcoholism, #america, #barack-obama, #borderline-personality-disorder, #bpd, #brazil, #catatonic, #mental-health


For those who take refuge in drink
What solace do you seek?
A sort of comfort no man can give
An appeal for peace as sure as I live.
As day wanes and a burning sun sets-
Do you have a choice the spirit you gets?
Surely as night goes on
You stagger, cuss, and moan.
Suddenly, speech makes no sense
Thoughts are unclear, confusing-“You! bitch.”
Speaking out of a dirty hole
Your words as poison-darken my soul.
The devil takes you by the hand
And leads you to that deep, dark land.
Please tell me plain why you’re insane
Hell came too soon-now demons swoon.

#alcohol, #barack-obama, #bpd, #creative-writing, #hell, #literature, #pain, #poem, #poetry, #united-states