Sad Poems : Alcoholic Poet: hurt Sad Poetry.

Alcoholic Poet. Poetry Equals Distance Over Time.

Distance Over Time
Tuesday 2/25/2025 11:36:00 PM

 blunt needles prepare their doses of poison. our atoms thoughtlessly colliding.

all our tender lies calcifying. as we fumble to bandage the truth's deeper cuts.

time presses against the glass. an orchestra of discarded strays.

flesh keeps its ledgers. an ugly accumulation of our burgeoning debts.

lust invents its dubious medicines.

for diseases so profoundly rooted that we are nothing without them.

the lurch of wanting turns us inside out.

everything we are exposed.

we voraciously consume every touch.

stubbornly convinced that they are saving us.

even as we take our last breath.

Saturday 2/01/2025 11:24:00 PM

the machine is ample savior when cleft in the treble of contempt.
as stilted orators infiltrate our thoughts.

wizened hunters unfold their blades.
as the cold cuts its questions into their math.

how deep does the forest dig into their steps.
how earnest is the conviction of consent.

the distance is a vicious measure of the truth behind our faces.
a curious confluence of tearful clowns and laughing strangers.

time laps at the blood.
as much a bandage as it is a weapon. 

Tuesday 2/14/2017 11:15:00 PM

everything was close. in that callously exemptive way that all grief gathers. the moment not quite there. yet excrutiatingly near.

the silence spun. kinetic and untamed. her flesh the tether. her want the clasp.

everything was fading. the colors going deaf. the bridges choking on the rigor of perspective.

ache simmered. all cliffs and ropes. counting their empty hours. in soiled blankets and knots undone.

the puzzle swelled. trembling with the solution.

the rain fell lightly. the sun never shone.

Saturday 7/30/2016 01:49:00 AM

it dwindles. the curious drizzle that dampens the coldest corners. it begs. in thundering whispers and stale coffee. it bleeds. it stains. the color of how it is and what it never will be.

the pace of then goes at a gallop. the speed of how gives chase. the structure is panic. the foundation is a conundrum.

it wonders. it surmises. like so much sober in a world of waste. fingers swear the fist, though only beggars remain.

the fabric stretches. taut over the swelling intersections. the zipper chews and sticks. smaller still as it opens.

there are words enough. ugly bridges to connect all these places that we think we've been. the vague electricity of a stranger's touch. that leaves us as hollow as the beds we've spent.

how far we've come. how close we get. trembling matchsticks against the fury of the flame. hope's crazed apocalypse bends and scrapes. ripe scabs for the picking. heavy buckets. all those little stones begin to sink us.

Thursday 7/14/2016 01:14:00 AM

dancing light. stubborn skin. i die a little more with every kiss. we are pieces. broken pictures. travellers on gravity's fickle whims. the colors bold. the saviors timid.

 hurried paradise. grateful wounds. touch the only antiseptic against the stiffening void.

 the miles multiply and choke us. the hours divide and conquer. the darkness bursts open and moments are expelled like bullets.

we don't go far. memory simply exaggerates the distance. it's time that spends us. like the pocket change we are. the maps have their creases. the paths have their rips. we run in every direction. disoriented by grief's vibrant prism. drowning in colors as the grey slowly wears off.

 the places take us. our open wounds and permanent scars. softly wear the rusted armor. we reason with edge. trembling with the logic of one too many intersections. we embrace the chaos as it welcomes our curious panic. still searching for the entrance to places that no longer exist.

Wednesday 6/15/2016 11:53:00 PM

withered edges tease the center. a spiral of contingencies play their variables in rain and piss. the moment blisters. tender with contrition. already spent by wind and sweat.

the road opens wide to swallow us. famished by distance. our journey chokes on the chalk of the wind.

captured by the horizon. divided by miles. separated by inches. alone all the while.

there is no destination. only stops along the way to where we are going.

the end suffers no names.

the grey cuts. tender lips in the darkness weep a murder of thieves. and hungry monsters reveling in their cages made of arrogance and flesh.

the voices are spent. punctures in the absence. gouges in the math. the addition of skin. the division of want. the curve takes us. impotent lions roaring at the wind. the impossible sober of defeat. the war is waged. all that's left is surrender.

the road swallows. the map spits. different paths. all go nowhere. just as they always have.

2/24/2016 11:53:00 PM

she was counting her colors. letting the voices go too far. small pebbles and big branches in the perpetuity of reasonable chaos.

we were drowning. in marathons and afterwards. we were ugly. in swollen math and false geometry. there were steps. measured as they always are. in parodies of skin. and the sovereignty of touch.

a fading conflict. the wager more structural than risk.

the flow of light. bent, yet determined. the consequence of sight entirely ungrateful. such is the scrape of the scale. full of weights and measures. and the awful dilemma of truth.

she was wearing the world. as she always had. in loose dresses and soiled blouses. she had always assumed that someday it would fit. no reason really.

the lights stayed on for as long as they could. the moment came and went. in wooden baseball bats and dried up markers.  not enough time she lamented as the moon came into focus. too many simple questions. with only complicated answers.

we are equal portions. time's passive aggression.  and hope's quiet rage.

Monday 11/10/2014 12:12:00 AM

the edges overtake and the margins disappear. she follows the wind. as the cold whispers destinations. wearing the distance in scabs and antonyms. the hungry colors. the thirsty greys. the elegant madness of want.

all fire and sirens. and waiting for the folds to sink. an autonomy of despair. too quiet to ignore.

her wrinkled socks. her dirty underwear. spoiled matches in the seduction of the darkness.

it's never had a name. it's never been drawn on paper. the art that is grief. the symphony that is need. the angles strain and fail to reach. the shadows attempt to negotiate an impossible debt.

the moment is small. the tangents of gods stricken with humanity.  everything is borrowed. and all debts are eventually paid.


we were young once. we were paper. fragile, empty and omnipotent. we were small. swallowing the world in kicks and scratches. now we are old and gravity only tolerates us.

the leaves fall and we try to catch them. but there are too many.

Sunday 8/10/2014 11:48:00 PM

idle temptations. everything is so far away. I am seduced by the horizon.  Yet betrayed by the distance.

The water surrounds us. It always has. I've only just begun to notice how shallow our prison.

it's the end of the world. it always is. everything is burnt matches and cigarette butts.

I asked him why. he didn't understand. his words snake bites. bits of poison to steal some blood. and leave me spoiling for a cure.

he asked me why. i couldn't answer. just crayons and condoms making their art from our panicked detours.

all creases and smudges. as skin gives way to reason.

the nervous abstract. the reluctant addict. the arrogant numbers that decide how far. all wind and sweat on roads that rarely remember.

the wonderful paradox of fresh scabs on old wounds.

8/03/2014 12:01:00 AM


the locks break. they always do. there's no permanent key. just the inches between us and surrender. laughing like jello in an earthquake.

life is a series of pictures taken by those who mistakenly believe they can see.

the road chases the black butterfly. in guilty increments. the constantly evolving crime of want. absorbs what we were. consumes what we are.

the heart is an instrument. it measures how lost we are. gravity whispers. we arrive in a discretionary  decay. all particles and pretense. reveling in the mud that has broken our fall.

accusing the destination. though the journey is the culprit.

how much farther she asks. feet heavy with finding. the hungry paths.

the hours are actors. their stage a brittle bridge. between loyalty and foolishness. he never said. he didn't have to. the silence was more than willing to speak.

the road was mine. the distance his. 

Monday 4/14/2014 12:15:00 AM

soft stalks in the thick grass. tease the sun. assuming life is residual. or some form thereof. her bricks carry her. in stiff tongues and absent martyrs. life is small. smaller than we ever imagined.

shattered tiles  on the stairs. the impossible logic of trust. simmers and burns in its empty pot. the gentle paradox of deception. boasts its graves in fractions of the original math. there is no such thing as addiction of subtraction. only corners where the shadows relent.

this long walk forgets the obvious parables. the distance concerns itself only with the echo. the mind's beating drum. the simple rhythm of pulsating skin. stubborn electrons racing against entropy.

Wooden steps wear their beginnings in broad clouds and questionable loyalties. We continue our climb. Confident that the altitude is sufficient to offset foul weight of gravity.

life arrives in hammers. Exits in nails. an innocent tangle of freedom. an immense wall of choices. a tricky prison not without its weaknesses.

Friday 3/28/2014 12:07:00 AM

soft scabs listen for the u-turn.

the journey happens. in used matchsticks and dirty bedsheets. smoke and cum. the perfume of love and crisis. stubborn ghosts wasting their pastels drawing flowers and flames.

it's cold. it has to be. the arrogant cancer of touch sweeps us up in its disease. the cure comes in colors. no words. just sweating angles. swallowed up in the inertia of the people we've become.

shedding the numbers. the vague math of broken needles and open windows. petitioning the darkness. in simple equations. ambivalent strokes of submission. quietly poison each moment.

until the sickness becomes a blessing.

the ballad of time. slow and soft. as it stabs. a gentle murder.

not falling.

just letting the gravity win.

the distance. here and there like separate worlds. the apogee. the blink of the sober. as it draws us into itself.

the falling leaves. the roiling seasons. of skin and choice. a withering exchange of flesh. and the outlines it imposes. these unfamiliar skeletons sneak inside us. changing the shape of everything.

Thursday 3/20/2014 12:20:00 AM

the distance swallows much more than it unfolds.

her tender arrows. her sharp scars. choke the on the moments.

a dark theater. still echoing the play. long after the audience has gone home and all the actors have left the stage.

patient thieves in their torn raincoats. trace the edges. careless slopes and thoughtless angles. the fading pastels of her want. the persistent stabs of regret. through the thin paper memory presses toward the sun. these shaky lines define us. these hollow edges rage for depth.

the stubborn inertia of a touch. wags us forward. limp and derelict ghosts perform the calloused rituals of life. red candy lips. sweet and sour with dissipation. cold pillows. smooth with entropy. barking dogs. fierce with circumstance.

the end is always the beginning in these scenarios.we struggle against the linear. Caught fish. Gills to the sun as the water mercilessly recedes. intimacy is always a fool. distance always a tyrant.

the thunder waits. for the storm to catch up. as we simmer in our discontent.

we wither in the desert. blood shadows. bone darkness. drowning in it. parched, yet unwilling to drink. 

the theory of  the machine. the peculiar pendulum of the heart. as it sways us. in every direction. and takes us nowhere.

Saturday 3/15/2014 12:59:00 AM

failing skins. dwindling bridges of flesh. the rupture. the gap. hysterical with gravity. and the frail partitions that separate the cold and the heat. the blunt pen. spoiled with ink. confident in the epiphany of stagnation. the order in the chaos. the madness in reason's wrinkles.

the choice becomes us. stabs of time. an avalanche of confessions. the murder of mirrors. in beautiful graves. dew drops on the concrete. giggle like school girls after the rape.

burnt wicks push the flame. the seldom geometry of touch. hard angles scrape soft faces. the volume. the capacity of us. pinholes in the cloud cover. knotted strings beaten by the wind. the frenzy of her. all color and needles. hope as much a vaccine as it is a cancer.

the blinking embers only listen. the choking storm only stares. it always ends as it begins. in darkness.

Wednesday 2/26/2014 12:40:00 AM

the bark on her sigh. thick sober molasses. dark. sweet. and suffocating. can't swallow. can't. breathe through it. the dense soldiers of why. the soft machine guns of if. a quiet conflict. so loud. with ridiculous choices.

the hours spent. angles on the chase. cold blankets as the bed consumes our flesh. this skin a hollow cocoon. these bones not enough. a stalled metamorphosis. the beautiful laments of strangers and sex.

little dolls. their frozen fingers. forever clutching. what doesn't exist. the pace. the footsteps of when. time. knowing. like some awful vaccine. curing me of this most wonderful of diseases.

the paradox of touch. that it always takes more than it gives. that it multiplies our desires. and divides our trust.

the edge has its uses. gravity boasts its allure. falling becomes us.

naive time machines. of tangled threads and empty needles. deep, filthy rivers of lost. foul maps to navigate these crumbling walls.

Thursday 1/02/2014 12:22:00 AM

the end stumbles. the beginning vomits. the purchase of hours a fierce debate. in rivers of now. in oceans of when. and life. the inadequate vessel with which we attempt to navigate. counting out loud. stroking the numbers. the yellow tendrils of choice. propagating like so many weeds.

there are gaps. a spectacle of flesh. like dead bulbs still humming with the electric. the years swallow and chew. torn lips and broken teeth. determined to consume what meat is left. on the spoiling carcasses of our happiness.

she'll only sometimes listen. when the silence overwhelms. purple nightmares that awaken just under the skin. jagged mazes that always solve to the edge.

bickering angles in the creases of her lips. all the words fall into them. all the world catches in their depths. a sweet honey pot overflowing with piss. the map is altered. rare choices pound their fists.

the sober argument of yesterday scream their dying whispers.

open wounds flaunt their art. the body is the ultimate truth. the end. and the beginning. the sunken clock in the absense of gravity.

soft sketches. faint pencil marks. trace the world in numbers scarred. the peculiar science of broken hearts. sharp blades measure the void. in shallow cuts.

the rain gives chase. as the winter consumes. falling menaces. changes. like hollow bones. continue to resist.

warm meat still against the bone. pulls against the fangs. but eventually is consumed.

tender corners in this stubborn prison. bend, but do not give.

Saturday 11/30/2013 01:16:00 AM

her broken ice. her shivering numbers. naming the clouds. in deafening consonants. the end of the world. smudged pencil and solvent storms. her fingers hurry over the letters. as the words confess.

a man is only the sum of his choices. a moment is just the spark. life bends and twists. nagivating the tunnels of our discontent. bent neeldes. ripe with all the poisons worth covetting.

the diagram. the mystery of the window. as it breathes open. to let the foul in. dead things like pieces of treasure. and diaappointment in its tuxedo. as handsome as ever.

she takes the pill. wishing it would take her instead. the vague conundrum of displacement. chokes on the volume it's meant to measure.

the nothing names her. loud acrobats tumble. in soft colors. in steep angles. the wolf inhales.the piglets wait. to find out if the house is still standing.

life happens. in knotted ropes. and radomn colors. a desperate admission  of skin. undoes the knots. bargains with gravity. the slope of surrender. the condition of apathy. the same homogenous blend of blood and god that have always failed us.

the broken bread. in chaffing flesh. the scraping how. in itching scabs.

there are easier paths. there are stronger threads.

but the machine knows us. better than we do each other. the motor bites down. threatening to expose those tender corners.

Thursday 10/17/2013 11:50:00 PM

such is the child. such are the atoms. as divided as they've been. the yellow king. his crown all drenched in red.

the machine wheezes and weeps. choking on time. the monsters evolve. and we become them.
she closes her eyes. deep in flower petals and strangers. the weight of when. swaying like a pendulum. refusing to wait another minute.

the war teases its end. in fumbled kisses. and hollow dresses.

careless goodbyes. hungry pauses.

we perish everyday. in an apocalypse of skin. always repeating.

chalk in the rain. decimals in the math. dwindling remainders. as the sky turns to look at us. all wind and rain and gravity. the sober science of when. eventually betrays.

stealing a path from within the silence. the skeleton dances to the flesh's fading songs. free at last.
we like to pretend there are monsters to blame. but we're always alone in this.

Monday 10/07/2013 01:05:00 AM

the whispering words kick and stumble. their stingers stuck under the skin. venom spent.

the skewed temples resonate. the dance of insatiable molecules. and hungry atoms. her lips. an anxious geometry of places. curdling sighs and rotting kisses. a soft painting still wet with the colors of a careless promise.

she chases time. her soiled eraser determined. she faces the engine. the wheezing turbines of touch and connection that  pry these edges from the fists of gravity.

falling comes naturally.

the hours owed. the distance possessed. the soft scabs that negotiate the perimeter. the endless war the mirror wages. the quiet ends we come to accept.

love's weighted lavender. despair's flawless red.

all these colors louder than ever.

we get lost in these easy wars. of bone and flesh. the end always close behind.

Thursday 8/29/2013 12:30:00 AM

the torn hem wears her grin. in threads of how. the future overtakes us. her skin like heavy robes. rigid with needles and useless medicines. choice. a series of random pinnochios desperate to be real. 

dreaming up her wars in bouts of sun.

wood, straw and bricks. naming their gravity. in broken clolors spoiled by sweat. the temporary monsters of flesh. have their betrayals calculated.

empty guns blame the bullets. simple strangers gather their wolves.

knowing the edge. the uncretain science of patience. pinholes in the clouds. a fever of trust. still rich enogh to  purcahse the game outright.

the rain falls. smooth on the glass. the storm waits. knots to be undone. places to take us where w've always been.

The barter of when. The collaspe of how. Proximity like a razor. Processes the blood. Flaunts the infection.


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