Sad Poems : Alcoholic Poet: Tastes Like Sad Poetry.

Alcoholic Poet. Poetry Equals Distance Over Time.

Distance Over Time
Friday 10/28/2005 11:17:00 PM

What's the difference between a habit and an addiction? None, but for the mercy of apathy. As it coats my world in its ample quicksand.

It's a pale reflection in a dirty mirror. This life is. How I bundle it up and stuff it down inside myself deep enough that it can't make me want to live it. To feel it ever again.

Pain tastes like scotch. Warm on your tongue. Hot going down. Leaves you choking for a new wind.

Ache tastes like wine. Sour as it lashes over your lips. Against your gums. But no feeling as it goes down your throat. Just the pucker in your grin left over.

And numbess or despair. Or both. They taste like beer. Slightly sweetened water full of tiny bubbles that capture all those words I meant to say and take them down to where they can't hurt me anymore.

What's the difference between numbess and despair? Not much. Every day is monotony. Every night lassitude. Life stagnates. I laid down in that bed one night to sleep. Or maybe it was to make love. But neither happened. I just got fucked.

And I've been laying there ever since with a bottle as my friend and only one thought that ever remains after all those other distractions life applies fail once again. That's it's not a bad habit. It's not an addiction. It's just what I am.

In a way, It's what I've always been. Only now it's more obvious. Lost inside myself no matter where I go.

It all tastes like what you want it to when you can't remember any of the real flavors. It always tastes just like hope though you know it's the farthest thing from it.

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