the machine falters. intense, yet impotent. 

defined by manic fairy tales.

the promise clenches. biting down on its own tongue. 

a parody of monsters searching for change in torn pockets.

the machine is both the bargain and the culprit.

the measure of swollen contrition. 

the dangling string on the runaway kite. 

the machine whispers. 

quietly insisting its power. 

the villain is obvious. the crime is precise.

dolls with their limbs scattered.  

their missing faces forgotten. 

the machine is the spark. choice is the kindling.

the fire is small. until it isn't.

we run up the hill. so sure of ourselves. 

puppets on time's stiff strings.

chewing on all the knots

that we've created.


eventually, we tumble down it. 

negotiating the truth at every bruise. 

snakes with paper fangs

selling their expired venoms. 

time and time again,

we reach the apex. 

only to discover that

the bucket we carry is full of holes. 

alcoholicpoet.com

a sad poem about human evolution. 


 the window is painted shut. no reflections dare taste its glass.

the building is made of sour candy. its walls are rotten.

the oven inside it is hungry for strays. the villains bait their traps.

the wolves outside dare not breathe. for fear that the pigs inside might escape.

the door is heavy. the lock is rusted. 

the rooms inside are all empty. 


the story is older than all of us. it  never changes.

we are lost.


not because we don't know where we are.

but because we don't remember where we've been. 



Filed under: November 2024 Sad Poems

alcoholicpoet.com

A dark poem about how the end comes for us all.


the empty amenities of skin parse our choices.

the colors of time dance on our lips.

there are lies to be told.

we choke on the maps they draw.

those places leave us too easily.

bits of bone in the jaws of conceit.

we continue searching for them.

memory clenches its fists. still there's nothing left to hold.

the world stumbles over the carcasses of what we have done.

but there's no need for graves.

when everything is dead.


Filed under: November 2024 Sad Poems

It's the end of the world as we know it. And I feel fine. 
- REM 


 wear your lies like armor and capes.

history will bear its own assessment. 

we're free. that is the promise.

repeat those convictions. while you stomp out their flames. 

we're free. that is the promise. 

but freedom plays favorites. 

spin your stories. shepherd your ignorant sheep.  

we're free. that's the most dangerous lie. 

that anyone can believe. 


Filed under: November 2024 Sad Poetry

by alcoholicpoet.com

"All is lost. Hope is dead." 
- Ronnie James Dio

we slouch toward our inevitable end. 

lost in our persistent paradox. perfect thieves with nothing left to steal. 

always wanting what doesn't exist. 

running through empty rivers. daring the water to return and drown us. 

dreaming in soiled beds. refusing to wake up. 

the winter makes its way slowly across our skin. in shallow cuts and lingering bruises. 

the truth slips between our thighs. and easily penetrates.

there are no names in the places where we meet. only strangers that taste like ash. 

we don't need to ask permission. 

when there's nothing left to take. 


Filed under: November 2024 Poetry

it hurts. the wound still exhales. i wait for it to heal, but it has different plans.

it's hopelesss. that's the first fall in a series of many.

it happens. the same way everything does. obedient to the flesh. regardless of reason.

the world doesn't end, but it may as well from my perspective.

the catastrophe of love. the lie of devotion. dwindling drugs in a broken syringe.

i was strong until i wasn't. cause that's what you do to me. and then i suddenly found i didn't care about the consequence.

my body churned. in a brutal betrayal of all my defenses.

i'd bled for you before and i welcomed the chance to bleed again.