my 26th

I absolutely love 'Or will I die somewhen in October'. It really gives the whole poem a good, atmospheric feeling, almost gothic? Which obviously fits with the theme of death. Brilliant

Very sad poem. It took me a while to figure out the rhymes because of the phrases cut in the middle. Also, suicide is NEVER a better option. I don't know how old are you, but you've still got the time to get the love of your life, that will get to you eventually. Just please, don't give up on hope, and wait a while to give life some more time. Focus on living through each single day, and you won't even notice how you become happy once again.

What is sobriety to you?

What is it that you draw a line,

Between dependence and being fine?

If you use soap to wash your skin,

Is it not a substance, used like an addiction?

Perhaps you use toothpaste,

And rinse with the water that you waste,

Down the drain, the pungent taste,

A menthol like air, in your sinus cavity space,

So that plaque won't beat your teeth in a race.

What is sobriety to you?

How is it that you decipher,

That drinking water, daily,

Is not a troubled fiend,

Withdrawing from humidifier?

That every time you take a shit,

The smell you breathe,

Is not a huffing form of a hit?

What is sobriety to you?

How would you equate,

The need to speak to other beings,

Identified as means to substantiate,

That maybe you on some level,

Are a burden, in the downward slope of a bevel,

Precariously crafted to only fall,

When the artist flips the table.

What is sobriety to you?

That you can't see the slide of hand,

That addiction tends to be overlooked,

En masse,

For the necessities in high demand.

What is sobriety to you?

How can you not wonder?

If money, paper, currency,

Is not the addiction society's still under?

What is sobriety to you?

And why should your voice,

Whisper sweet nothings of death,

When you are not sober?

Could this be the dread,

Intoxication could hold for them?

Maybe they would love nothing more than to be wed,

But you are so busy pickling your thoughts,

With whatever fills you with such dread.

What is sobriety to you?

Why isn't it a pleasure,

To love yourself, and someone else,

With or without the fuel for measure?

You inspired me. Please don't mourn.

Your artistic structure, so forlorn,

Is expressed with so little,

But says so very much.

Nobody wants to see anyone else,

In an urn or casket's vile clutch.

Please feel pride in loving you,

The way we feel in knowing you.

You could just ask them to, hold hands,

Unite yourselves, and take a stand.

I can't fathom though, with what urge,

It's your love you'd choose to purge.

Oh wow, I really loved this. I appreciated how honest this was… the weight of loneliness… you own this space and it is yours to be vulnerable. Thank you for sharing and hang in there (my mother met her Prince Charming, my father, when she was a blossomed rose at 34 :) )

this piece is haunting and I feel like many people would relate to the hopelessness of alcoholism that you have portrayed so succinctly. I really hope that you will find your way out of this feeling - remember there is always so much more ahead. At first, I thought 'somewhen' was a typo but I looked it up and it is an informal word that kinda perfectly encapsulates the sentiment of losing autonomy to your own demise. Brilliant piece and I hope to see more!

I'm trying to give constructive feedback. I just had all kinds of feels and TBH I don't think I could make it better. I feel your pain

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Will we ever be free from all the troubles That hold us down , Oh how i wish for a day where i don't have to worry neither think . And there lie i in the willow beneath the tree . Calm and rested and without worry .