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Array
(
[sid] => 13650
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => Intoxicated
[time] => 2003-03-03 07:00:00
[hometext] => *the truest thing that i have written, about the things that some of us do in order to forget.
i would love to hear feedback on it* [bodytext] => My passing could have been facilitated But now I stand alone and waiting to be humiliated If only I could have been sedated, If only I could have send that smile over to you But I wasn’t willing to wear what you had to offer And now I cut myself the way you want me too There is a killer in me and you could see… Pushing and manipulating you slowly debilitated me Why couldn’t you realize that I was once a little boy I became nothing too you but a complicated toy. And now with every sip and every puff. I choke and I cough, and there is no reason for me to think I have had enough It crushes me, the way in which you leave and then return A different face, and a different voice, But the same expressions, and the same words that burn But its not entirely your fault I search within you for something that is absent in my own vault The sincerity and complete unselfish truth, That allows for you to open up your wings like the compressing doors of a telephone booth. But even if I could discover this beauty in you I would not be able to connect I have been taken all my quarters and nickels And as I wash down these thoughts my vocal cords irritate, And the irony tickles But I don’t laugh because its bitter to see my tenderness, and innocence splatter on the floor as my sweat begins to trickle You could not believe in me, just like I could not believe in you And now I have become fixated, not on pills nor scotch But instead on finding something that I feel is true. And as I drown myself and as I cut my skin, I know that I have become something that I wish I wasn’t And I think about stopping, but I can’t for the pain and the love is reciprocated, and sadness and despair regurgitated and the thought that you ever infiltrated, is completely obliterated when I stand with my knees on the ground, and the hands on the seat completely and utterly intoxicated [comments] => 4 [counter] => 142 [topic] => 39 [informant] => johndough111 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Grief )
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