alcoholicpoet.com

 the spark worries. dismissed again by the flame.

strays and orphans barter their remaining flesh.

as time sheds the last of its skin.

we're only temporary.

eternity yawns and we vanish.

change is precise, sharp and cruel.

we sneak inside each other. searching for light where none exists.

the spark stumbles. as the dark asserts itself.

time continues to make it promises. while the distance parses their veracity.

we're only temporary.

but the spark. 

the spark is permanent. 

Filed under: August 2024 Poetry

 

an original post by alcoholocpoet.com

inside the monster i saw the empty gowns. the discarded limbs and severed faces that once feigned to be human. 

i stumbled over the obvious arithmetic countless times. until the numbers eventually found their equilibrium. 

i let the edge tell its stories. the spoiled confessions of arrogant liars. 

i didn't have to fall, but i wanted to. 

gravity bit its tongue. as the world tumbled out of focus. 

time sharpened its claws. 

we sat inside the machine as it choked on our corpses. 

strangers with familiar faces. 

we tugged on our ugliest zippers and  smirked as our insides spilled out. 

Filed under: August 2024 Poetry
 

created by alcoholicpoet.com

time opens its purse. only to realize there is nothing left. 

the end is quiet. as the end often is. a preponderance of scavengers.

we wear the hours like broken staircases. every step subsumed by the spoiling arithmetic

the hollow panic of paper thieves. as the world resolves their delusions. 

we whisper in time's ear. all the lies that we want it to believe. 

skin plays hopscotch on the remains of our choices. lingering games divide their fractions. 

we are the ambivalent authors of voices without sound. 

we are the reluctant assassins in love's sharpest corners. 

the machine idles against the treble of each breath. 

while we languish in the paradox of a future long since spent. 

Filed under: August 2024 Sad Poems

created by alcoholicpoet.com

 how lost are we in our simple mazes. sinking fast under the tread of change. 

chasing each wall in earnest. obedient assassins in a murder of choices. 

the ugly came and went. only the corpses remained. 

the edge pursed its lips and declared that we had fallen off of it. 

passing off our panic to all the little hurricanes under our skin.


little dogs in wolf's dens. circumventing the apex. 

i couldn't wait for his flesh to catch fire again. when mine had already been incinerated. 

names change. skies collapse. but touch is a truth that never falters. 


we lie. and say we've learned. how deep the chasm goes. 

but the truth is. 

there are no numbers that can measure the weight of nothing. 

Filed under: August 2024 Poetry

created by alcoholicpoet.com

the distance turns on tattered maps. the miles falter in their soiled gowns. flirting with the waning monsters. chewing on the broken candy in tomorrow's delipidated houses. 

the truth lives in empty boxes. all the glorious secrets of little men. 

i almost kept. 

skin like quicksand. 

every breath stumbles over the next. words like vultures. feast on time's decaying flesh. 

the table shudders as we place our final bets. the fairy tale's teeth sharper than they've ever been. 

time shrugs its shoulders as we knock on its back door. 

 the stale  reward of desolate orphans. the distance chokes on our stubbornness.

little dolls. their paper smiles. 

left out in the rain too long. 

found in Poetry August 2024

an original poem by alcoholicpoet.com

 i knew the lie even before it revealed its name. 

a suitcase of words. as we traveled between dormant destinations. 

we danced for hours. to the rhythm of the storm as it tried on our various faces. 

the distance copulating with all the missing variables. 

our choices arguing with the thieves under our skin. 

the tender math of reluctant strangers. struggling to reconcile a growing debt. 

love like radiation. poisoning us from within. 

an equation of emotions. weaker still against the sharp angles of consent. 

i asked him why. as if i thought there could be an answer. 

i stumbled through how. eyes closed. all remaining skin discarded. 

we were drenched in a thunderstorm of choices. 

i confessed i had left the door unlocked. 

still  it remains unopened. 

alcoholicpoet.com

 gentle is the storm as it asks our name. zippers on the face of time. let us out of our skins. all of our choices petulant wagers.

the panic has its throne. a curious evolution. of misplaced loyalties. 

we are the scratches on time's wrists. where all the old blood collects.  

the scabs on love's lips. that make it sting. 

precariously balancing on the cantilever of trust. earnest strangers in familiar conceits. 

all of our windows more than gracious as we look inside to see. 

the catastrophe of empty rooms that we've accumulated. 

no stairs go deep enough to reach. how low we've sunk.

no locked doors are strong enough. 

to keep us from hurting each other.