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Chapter 5 One slap. Two slaps. I force myself to stay strong. "Sorry," I mumble. He stares at me for a minute and I panic. Have I knocked it this time. He stares at me solidly.
1. The hand It's a fall Saturday morning in 1944, the leaves blowing harshly slapping against my face. You may as well call me a freak for that's what everyone else thinks .
Pour myself another as i empty inside. Hide behind a bottle, as i drink up my pride. No worries, not a care, crosses my mind. So i pour myself another, to this false hope i'm resigned.
The amber liquid lures you in with its deceptive colour, honey gold to reassure you it could never hurt you. Until you taste it, the burn intensifies before it soothes as it goes down your throat.
Bright red lips Nails to match, A woman that No one can catch. Long slender legs Bright white teeth, Eyes as green As a summer leaf.
There are always these dark drowsy drunken days that make you feel like the world out there is nothing but a lost barren wasteland. And the world inside you is nothing better either.
The quiet anger, the way the tension builds around you. I keep quiet and hide, this isn't my fight to have. But I watch as your anger simmers, and the way you evaluate.
He can't hear He only listens to himself To his addiction His inner need and not to help Gone are the days When he was happy and free He's now in a dark world Where the bottle has the key No one can...
Started having a few beers with my mates. Every Saturday night drinking till late. Then the weekend got longer. The urge became stronger. Friday was the start of a three day binge.
#household. Out on the porch you are swingin'. Your daddy comes thru the back door. You don't hear the telephone ringin'. Your momma won't be back no more. Your daddy, he got the message.
#household Not a loner But no friends came round She didn't want them To hear their intoxicated sound Every day When she came home from school What would be waiting empty or blood in a pool.
Chapter One "You can't take my child!" my mother screamed. "I have rights over her!" I was standing in the door way, my father clutching onto my arm.
#household Thick, laced and red, Beckoning to my head, In a bowl, mug or glass, Temptation comes, I feel it swirl and mass, So sweet it will taste, Yet I should leave, And run without haste, Can't...
He rolls back over to his glass of vodka, As if worried that it'd gone away. Take a sip, feeling it bite back. It chases the thoughts and makes them play. Oh sure it can make him happy...
When I was little, my dad was always my rock. So stable, so safe. But at some point, that changed. I'm not sure when, but it did. My dad has always been one to appreciate a good whiskey.
She thinks I'm great and I let her. Must improve, a family to inspire: Im head of this clan and I want to be better, But I'm not, I'm a liar.
I stare blindly into an empty glass, the last dregs of bourbon reflecting my lined face, distorting it, ....just as time distorts my thoughts of you... .....oh sure they were good times.
Another old-ish one. Enjoy.
I swore I Would walked away, move on to a much better place, I swore I would never pick up a damn drink again, but I'm back in the same joint, sitting at the same barstool with a half empty glass,...