Sad Poems : Alcoholic Poet: Shorter Sundays Sad Poetry.

Alcoholic Poet. Poetry Equals Distance Over Time.

Distance Over Time
Monday 12/04/2006 01:33:00 AM

He was sober enough for the both of us. Not that I'd ever seen him drunk. Just little skips of delirium that would punctuate his depression. Some cousin of euphoria that preferred to serve its ice cream already melted.

Even when he was miserable I still envied him.

Everything to lose. And risking all of it. Stuffing dollar bills into slot machines dubbed sex. And always winning.

It was at his lowest points that I loved him the most. It was the way he made love to me that last time that I knew it was just sex.

Something like a tumor. Showing up long after it can't be removed.

Anonymous said...

"It was the way he made love to me that last time that I knew it was just sex."

argh! no, it was just time to follow but one fork in that sandy trail before i caused even more grief for you.

one of, if not the hardest decision i ever made, and perhaps not the best choice.

"What I want" is what I read when i need...

-- even though your blog post may not have applied, my answer does.


alcholic poet said...

this post was inspired by that time in our lives to some degree. however, nothing i write is the whole truth and nothing but the truth. i often compose things as much worse/sadder than they actually were.

that line you quoted, i wrote for two reasons. one: i think it sounds poetic and two: that is how it felt at that time. that isn't how it feels now.

you didn't cause me grief. all right, maybe a tiny bit. but you gave me truckloads of joy. so it's all good.

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