Tuesday 12/05/2006 12:30:00 AM

His words were erect with a raging hard-on. Punative and absolved of guilt by lessons of the heart.

We all stood for the duration. Bold innuendos brave enough to insinuate. Our choice of choices. In little pillars made of salt. That had dared to look back on the site of the devastation.

Only half the world left in the skin not claimed. By time and circumstance. And other imbeciles of this condition. We claim is happiness when sobriety shoves its foot up our asses.

I haven't been drunk for who knows how long. But I've been drinking too much for a ages.

Does it really matter what or who was loved. Does the water know the hole it leaked from.

Even if we could put it back. What's to stop us from losing it again?

2 comments:
An Irish Friend of Bill said...

far be it for me to deprive you of a perfectly valid life choice to drink, but do you think you might have a problem with your drinking? i can't tell from your posts you see. i can certainly relate to the black moods you describe as part of your mindset. well more like 'before' i decided to deal with my own drinking problem. if this is annoying you, just ignore it. i was genuinely just curious, as i don't think i could figure it out from your poems. ta anyway

alcoholic poet said...

sure i have an addiction. it's yet to become a problem. though i'm sure it will at some point.



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