Saturday 11/05/2005 10:22:00 PM

The night predicts in cold measures how much will be consumed. How much will be wasted. It's an unforgiving scale as it balances beer against man/woman. From sober to forgiven in only seconds. And I can't love myself. Or anyone. But the hate is gone. For one more beautfiul night I've defeated it.

It flows down my throat like a poison dart headed straight for my center. To put to sleep whatever in me is the reason I am what I am when sober. Why everything hurts when nothing should.

The less I drink the more comfortable I feel indulging deeper again. My alcoholism is a seesaw. One side goes up the other sinks. Up and down they go. Drunk. Sober. Drunk. Sober. The axle squeaking sharply with each manuever.

I'm not better now. Not worse either. Only different.

I'm not looking for happiness in this disease. I know it isn't there. I'm just trying to convince myself it's nothing that I need.

Hugh said...

You're such a gifted writer. Please do something with that talent. Just checking back in. I don't blog anymore so if you went to visit after the last comment... But I really like to hear you talk. Take care.

- a girl nicknamed "Hugh"

alcoholic poet said...

thanx. dunno what else to say. but i do appreciate your taking the time to send me your kind thoughts.

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