Tag Archives: alcoholism

A Face In The Sky

A pretty dream, a face in the sky, my love.

                              A pretty dream, the face turned, love lost.

                             

                              This car isn’t much, but it goes fast enough.

                              The drink makes me numb, deathly quiet.

 

                              Let it end, by the sea, so I can disappear,

                              To the depths, the dark, the place perfect.

 

                              I let her down. I cannot win. The Devil will.

                              I’m tired of fighting myself. I’m tired of madness.

 

                              There he comes, flashing lights, coming for me.

                              I’ll make the right wrong move, and I’ll be gone.

 

                              Pulling over, one last pull, I can leave forever,

                              For the dark and warm place, that’s only silence.

Emily Jean

It’s late September. We’re passing a bottle of wine late at night.
Sitting on a worn out couch outside her apartment, talking about life.
Red wine leads to red thoughts, of what comes when death finds us,
and what will be left of us as this world burns away sweetness for a laugh,
of what could last for all time.
 A bottle finished, another opened. We don’t realize where this will lead.
Just something to soothe broken hearts, make us feel light and full of dreams.
Her man left her. I’m facing the loss of someone dear. The stars gave us no names.
We’re both lonely and raw and just trying to hold onto warmth as winter comes.
We get drunk. We always get drunk.
 She ends up asleep on my shoulder, asleep, troubled and at peace.
Both bottles of wine empty at my feet. Her rust colored hair bleeds
the death of sweetness, of hope, down my chest. Another wound.
Buzzed, full of dreams, way too horny, I watch the sky, counting her breathes
and counting the stars, and giving up on the tenderness of the moon.

The End of the Dream

She’s sitting on the hood of my mint blue 65 mustang.
Drinking iced tea, watching the sun fall, the night come.
The end of the road wasn’t paradise, the end of the dream.
I come to sit with her, but first spike my tea with some rum.
 A little house, a scraggly yard, a little place out of the night.
We sleep together, and it’s still good; it’s not what we thought.
Life is life anywhere you go, and this town is just like back home.
That you can’t outrun the world, no matter what dream you bought.
 I put my arm around her, I kiss her brunette head, then her cheek.
She lays her head on my shoulder, and we drink, and she knows I’m drunk.
Tomorrow it will all make sense, and I can beat the bottle, and we’ll be free.
We go inside, watch some show on Netflix, some wild girl with endless spunk.
 Sleepless. Tomorrow it will all make sense, and be clear, in heart and head.
She is troubled by a bad dream, me by sleep that can’t come, and a silence.
I make myself the big spoon, nuzzle her neck, breath her salty, dry skin.
This is peace I tell myself. This is what I always wanted. I dream of violence.

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