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Alcoholic Poet's Sad PoemsAlcoholic Poet's Sad PoemsThink. Write. Drink. In that order. Everything is dark. Everything is bright. 
Articles
Character Flaws
2007-11-24 09:24:00 She had a clock upon her chest. Dividing sex arbitrarily in names. Decorations sagging under the weight of heavy lights and gifts not wrapped. There were dark blue stones in her bracelet. True or False? There were photographs taken of skins she'd never wear again. The closet sinking like angels with wings made of paper. Dancing to the perpetual sigh of gods unwilling to save us. That's what I More About: Character , Hara
The Cliche Qualitiies of Any Girl
2007-11-24 08:23:00 Little holidays from the heart. In brown sugar hats and gummy bear gloves. Dancing as though alone isn't a monster. Inside her closet. Under her bed. That no one sees, but her. Deciding who was gone. In the braille she wrote her thoughts in. The blind morality of trust reading what she'd never touched. Like every liar claims they had good intentions. How every lover says hello with their dirty More About: Girl
Cinderella with a Pocket Knife
2007-11-24 07:09:00 I call it intent. Others maybe circumstance. The single artery in all that meat. Her tongue negotiating with her teeth on how to swallow it. That moment when something living becomes meat. It's life. It's death. It's what makes them the same. I'm just playing scrabble with one letter. Letting the words make me up. I was always ignoring myself before I started ignoring them. They always took More About: Cinderella , Knife , Pocket , Pocket knife
Thanksgiving
2007-11-21 07:57:00 she flushed. desdemona to his othello. only damper. she saw the lies in his strangle, but they were stronger. Juicy turkey and warm stuffing like the threat of family too eager to know her. Little birds outside the door hungry for more regurgitated worms. so loud. like breathe under the covers. afterwards. feed me. vomit again. oh poor iago. so mistrusting. assume betrayal and make yours More About: Thanksgiving
Peculiar Quarks and Ordinary Atoms
2007-11-21 07:12:00 The small cancers in her smile were grotesque, but for the most part benign. She could write a novel with just the still of her lips. As they antcipated lazy eulogies of sex. If it's dead, she thought, I cannot have a funeral for it. Because it was selfish of it to die first. If it's dead, she reasoned, let it be dead the same way that it lived. Unnoticed. The eyes talk to the lips when there's More About: Ordinary
Playing Poker with God and Satan
2007-11-20 06:57:00 God laid down his hand. The Devil had won again. Even Satan has his triumphs. Even God has his failures. I may not be real. Neither of us is, but I'm the one they love. When bad things happen it's you they hate. But when someone is saved it's me they worship. That world is all theirs. It doesn't belong to either of us. We're not real until they're frightened. Orphaned gods still shitting in More About: Poker , Poke
Black Cocoons Give Birth Obliquely
2007-11-19 07:48:00 If you're hungry I can give you something to wear. If you're cold I can tell you what to say. Cause I know both of them better than I should. I don't remember how I old I was the first time that alone made sense. I just know it was too long ago now to argue with. And that I'm all for ending a sentence with a preposition if it means someone will remember. You can say what you want about More About: Black , Birth , Give
Perpetual Motion
2007-11-18 07:06:00 In the box. With all four sides missing. No entry for the worm or the poison. Just dirt accumulating where the joints are weak. Torn envelopes humming like women in heat. The blood of little girls percolating between their legs. Millipedes and scorpions in fairy tales about the men. Charming princes and valiant villains all too sour for dessert. In her bed. With dead arms weighing her down. More About: Motion
Nearsighted Strangers Drawing The Path
2007-11-17 07:41:00 Sweet sausage tongues conspiring in the vagaries of dismissal. The foolish kittens with loud claw scratch out the exclamation point. She tells the teddy bear to be patient. She'll sew its eyes back on some day. But until then. Try to see without them. Scolding the mountain with chastity belts for which I've long since lost the key. Strange how we ask those questions like attack dogs. Content More About: Drawing , Tran , Strangers , Path , Ranger
Sour Milk
2007-11-16 05:58:00 With soap still under her nails she dug little holes. In smaller ones. The hours thick with fat. Tasty angels with their wings to suck on. The smell of sober making her nauseous. Knowing over doesn't wait for the right time. It just happens. Clean. Curious liars imagine the truth as it would suit them. Loose fit utopias name their charities after their victims. Trying them on with the price in More About: Milk
Refurbished Memories
2007-11-14 07:12:00 Submitting to the X-ray she assumed they'd find nothing inside her. Blank organs in their powdered wigs. A map to nowhere. A round world pounded flat to fit inside tight pockets. Drawing the window with an empty pen. Trying on the Devil's nightgown while walking in God's slippers. There are pictures to make to dampen the thump of the future pounding on her door. Songs like wars fighting over More About: Memories
Fitting Rooms
2007-11-12 07:38:00 She's blind so you must forgive her for not seeing. Favors of the tongue bargain with the structure of vision. For little shits of sight too small to stink. Too big to flush. In the child there is knowing. The end is close. In the woman there is the execution of memory. Colorless palettes. Dry brushes. Still pretending to paint. Failed portraits. Life was. Is. Shall always be. A cancer. To be
Actionable Variances of The Golden Ratio
2007-11-12 06:52:00 They all go away. As sad little girls with their torn dresses about their ankles. Raped by their own expectations. Admonished. Then resurrected. As women. Authority figures in forgetful pants. Lost faces she'll never see again. Eyelashes. Tiny specks of art drawing on her cheeks. In wishable losses. The tornado of her eyelids debating the merits of destruction. They all go away. Drugs wear More About: Golden , The Go , The G
The Practicals of Grief
2007-11-10 08:10:00 Her tits were soft cooked eggs. Her eyes were sausages. Trays of skin. Stacked. Plates breaking. In accusations of skin. Dirty enough. Don't you think? Cans of bacon grease on the counter. Pretending she was there. In theory. Or practice. Or anything she could call constant. Little gods on their totems. Drawing the dot. In puddles of meat. All the dead things that make us alive. Empty pens like More About: Grief
Summarily Contrite
2007-11-09 06:10:00 I don't know anything. That is my strength. I know everything. That is my weakness.
Stung Again
2007-11-08 07:24:00 I don't want to change my name. You do it instead. I don't want to be someone else. The oregano scent still potent in the armpits of her fingernails. The sausage flavor on her lips far from dissipating. She cried from the onions. Tears she never knew were there. Sniffly and weak. Her sleeves pushes up paste her elbows, still falling down into the muck at her wrists. Raw pork. Pin chicken. In
Rhetorical Diarrhea
2007-11-07 06:59:00 Barbarians in tweed suits. His words as silken as his argyle socks. The devil wears slacks. God wears jeans. The distorted politics of capricious humanity. Because orchids bloom at night. Like love would. If it were real. Her dolls all have crew cuts. Scissors in empty hands usurp the ugly. Sorting the blood from the raindrops. She closes the blinds and looks away from the window. Certain her More About: Diarrhea
The Antonymn In Her Breast Pocket
2007-11-06 06:18:00 I'm ready to go. Upside down. Arguing with salamanders under her tongue about the duality of the sun. The crisp of baseball in young men. The salt of peanuts thawing her fingers. I'm not there. In that nightmare disneyworld. Of beauties awakening. Vapid decathlon fueled by credit cards. I can't wear that. Turn that spit into sex. Like we did when we were still secure in our solitude. That it More About: Breast , Pocket
Oceans On Slips of Paper Fried Like Skin
2007-11-05 08:17:00 Servants of pleasure polish the crown. Potent orphans create the ladder she falls down. Away from the fire they tell her. Away from the flames. But the costume fits better in this inferno. Its skin becomes mine. Seeds exploring. Harmonies of skin. Pales symphonies in the operas of my life. Cicero's composing their women. Cyrano's pretending to know them. It's like every fairy tale. Happy More About: Skin , Paper , Oceans , Fried
Ghost Number One
2007-11-05 07:01:00 Children. With stolen names. The counted raindrops on the window's screen. Little scraps of skin stitched into the face I try to wear. While I wait for the new one to grow over it. Long toenails pulling away from the footprint. The staircase in her throat deciding which way is down. Considering whether there is a difference. (The)n(or)ever She found herself. Dirty water all over clean dishes. More About: Ghost , Number
Pi
2007-11-04 05:38:00 There you are. Simple Satan's gambling my skin. Stray saviors painting white sheets red. It's her prom in liquid eyes. Dancing like rain upon the missing glass in windows. It's tomorrow already. Too late. Too soon. Wasn't. Won't be. Juggling those apples with so many missing fingers. Won't be tasting them at all. With all those bottomless baskets playing attorney to my death sentence. I'm not a
Insufficient Funds
2007-11-02 06:38:00 The terminology is sketchy sometimes. The rationale of testicles is hard to follow. Their faces like grim tuxedos in sweaty lapels. Dead flowers about their necks. Searching for the refuge of filthy handkerchiefs. High school proms minus the punch. And the condoms. And the makeshift abortions. Daft gods polishing their thrones with the blood of disciples. Tiny doll faces. Their lipstick wearing More About: Funds
Newton Napping
2007-11-01 05:08:00 Her pussy like a tackle box. Full of hooks and lures. Determined. Precious. Devoted to the aftermath. As every stray must be if it wants to find a home. The worms didn't seem to care that she was using them. Her past was not there during roll call. Tardy, but not truant. Making her boots from the footprints she's saved. Dirty Polaroids try to be the people she thinks she can remember. When it's More About: Newton
No Paper
2007-10-31 05:58:00 Enough to spill. Spill a little bit. And no more. That'll do. A tantrum of skin embezzles my attention. Every encounter is a sudden accident. Each kiss is whiplash. I search for my head amongst the debris. But when I finally find it I decide I was better off before I did. Happiness is the seat belt. Sex is the windshield. And we were hoping to crash. I like my wounds to be vocal. I like my More About: Paper
Surface Tension: A Fairy Tale Part Two
2007-10-30 06:03:00 Coaxing the princes. With promises of sex. As all princes must be convinced. The ave the beauty. Or what passes for it. Numbering her strangers by the shapes of their penises. Little girls tracing their men with worn out crayons. Little girls pretending they know what they're doing. Little women denying they're old enough to answer for what they've done. Life is a true or false question. And More About: Tension , Part , Surface , Fairy Tale , Tale
Surface Tension: A Fairy Tale Part One
2007-10-30 05:36:00 Remembering the moment. Pale paint drying on thin brushes. The cartoon in your fall. Looking down at the nothing beneath your feet. Not falling until you see it. Me. Passing this anvil onto you. The words above your head so clear. She draws in pen. She draws in ink. Pencil is for the young. Pencil is for those that still think that they can erase. Or that they would want to. She draws in More About: Tension , Part , Surface , Fairy Tale , Tale
Ovulating Again
2007-10-30 05:09:00 She was arguing with her uterus about the science of the heart. Every dead egg she'd pissed into the toilet throughout her life was her evidence. A perfect hysteria womanhood kept mute for over thirty years. Love is simply the survival of the species. Not a device for individual happiness. Just a tool of nature to keep itself alive. She was cold. As they tread there in open water of her
Beauty Like Broken Crutches
2007-10-29 06:03:00 Guilty with the dead spider on the bottom of her shoe. A run in her mood unstoppable. Where's the giant hand to flatten her she asked to the song she wasn't listening to anymore. Same ugly music she always assumes belongs to her. Like pleasure belongs to rich, dirty old men. And hopelessness only to the desperately young. Where's the exit to the maze the walls asked in a snit of left over woman More About: Beauty , Broken
The Rain On Their Faces
2007-10-28 06:14:00 I'm not your manic depressive Jesus. I'm not the pawn that takes the queen. I lose. Because I want to. Save yourself. I'm not asking to be loved. I can do that on my own. Drawing on the sidewalk in bits of little girl. Like real artists do. Scooping the skin from hollow dresses. Naming the broken bones after arguments I've lost to myself. He once told me there was no one he could love. I More About: Faces , Rain
Plot Points and Characters
More articles from this author:2007-10-28 05:43:00 When you write, in a manner such as this, those who happen to read tend to assume they are receiving a clear picture of you. Writing is just that. A creative outlet. One tiny flaw amplified until it fills the page. I am not the alcoholic poet. She is just a cuticle on one finger of one hand. I am not broken nor lost. I'm just writing. Like no one's there. There is no other way to write. When More About: Characters , Points , Char , Hara , Plot 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 |
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