Sad Poems : Alcoholic Poet: Wasting Time Sad Poetry.

Alcoholic Poet. Poetry Equals Distance Over Time.

Distance Over Time
Monday 6/09/2008 11:49:00 PM

The air shrugged hard. Scraping loudly over her breasts. The confection of her skin laced with sour bits. She walked. Paced. In the small span of her decision. Elastic moments snapping back. Calendars in her chest erupting with the future. Withering with the past.

Everything gone. Nothing forgotten. The air not noticing. The chisel in her head. Carving. Culling yellow from crimson. In puddles of when. Time still tasted her. She it.

Alone in herself. Alone in anyone. Close. A lie told by anxious fingers. Touch. A treason of the heart. Sex. The coma. The machine. Keeping dead things alive.

Nothing ahead. Nothing behind. Travelling outside the confines of skin. Emerging from the asshole of time. Covered in its shit.

Jannie Funster said...

fucking brilliant poem

alcholic poet said...


a fucking compliment is the best.

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