“Intoxicate”
Wake up with morning,
steaming energy, then shift
to numbing tonic.
Steve D
Tag: alcohol
“Intoxicate”
Misplaced Missive #200 – Liquid Temptation
Liquid Temptation
Seen through the mirror
Disgust becomes clearer,
I only needed to see her
Stumble.
It humbles me to find,
The attraction of the vice,
Was purely in my mind.
A device I deployed,
Wholly to avoid,
The eating void
Of all that I lack.
The impact of seeing you
Stumbling under… Continue reading “Misplaced Missive #200 – Liquid Temptation”
Misplaced Missive #168 – Caffeine and Whiskey
I’m running on caffeine,
And bleeding whiskey.
My behavior is getting risky,
Will you miss me,
When I’m gone? Continue reading “Misplaced Missive #168 – Caffeine and Whiskey”
Re: Sobriety Is An Island (But Not the Fun Tropical Kind)
Yesterday, I read Trace-Blogs’ personal experience post about drinking and the social ramifications of her giving up alcohol. I felt an insuppressible urge to ramble immediately after, so I recommend reading her post first, because this is what I came up with in direct response: Continue reading “Re: Sobriety Is An Island (But Not the Fun Tropical Kind)”
Moonlit Musing – Alcohol Cures
Emergency Whiskey
It’s a bit of a wait and see,
A watch and be,
One grain of struggling sand,
In a stranded hourglass. Continue reading “Moonlit Musing – Alcohol Cures”
Color Schemes – What You Wanted
This is what you wanted,
So why are you always
Downing the liquid fire?
Browning out the times
Meant to be in full color.
Sacrificing the next day’s health
To the whims of the night before.
If you’re so happy
Why get so drunk?
Needing depressants to suppress
….what? Continue reading “Color Schemes – What You Wanted”
Prose – Athlete, Temple, Bottle – JG
He started off early; nursed at the bottle soon after leaving his mother’s breast. It was his daily routine, his beverage of choice with every meal, (especially when that meal was sorrow), and the significant other in his longest relationship to date. He knew booze better than his own parents – Daddy left for work and never returned, and Mommy burned herself out and away, soul and body, trying to provide for him, her little son. Her shining sun, the only man she’d ever trust again and the only one who counts. She never counted all the glasses, all the cans, all the caps, all the bottles. Continue reading “Prose – Athlete, Temple, Bottle – JG”
Evening Satellite Publishing 