Untitled (A Short Story)


The back end of the tavern was pretty crowded that night, which meant that the bartender was being extra particular about who he gave his attention to. I’d been standing on the far corner towards the stage - the only part of the entire stretch that wasn’t mobbed by people - and waited patiently for an opening to flag down a drink. We were in between sets, and some other local act was currently assembling themselves beneath the shoddy spotlights. Their setup was as elaborate any other, with broad panels of wood adorned with as many as a dozen different guitar pedals placed firmly in front of their feet.



At a quick glance, I raised a finger to the passing bartender and ordered a cheap draft and a shot of whiskey. As he departed, a young guy stumbled toward the bar and threw his weight against it, sprawling forward with his arms draped over the back of the counter. He steadied himself and straightened, coming to relax on his elbows and placing himself on the stool to his right, as if he’d been sitting that way along. I couldn’t help but chuckle, and struggled to do so under my breath. He had long, ratty dreadlocks that held a color somewhere between brown and black. Everything about him looked sort of dirty and sketchy, but his grin also made it clear that he was having a blissfully good time.



He seemed like he was contemplating ordering a drink, but couldn’t quite get himself to move forward and do so. I sat there watching him absently, waiting on my own drinks to arrive. He turned towards me, his head bobbing, and he spoke to me as if he knew me. He had a name for me and everything.



Tom! Tom… Sorry, I didn’t notice you there for a second.” He said, lucidly, his eyes opening and closing. He turned his stool towards me and placed one hand on his leg, leaning forward and looking at me very intently.



Do you wanna know what I’ve noticed, Tom? Everybody here… Around here, I mean… Keeps talking about, like, what’s right; what the right thing to do is. And… They all have different ideas… About what it is, you know? What the right answer is. For everything.” He spoke soberly, despite his dazed expression and half-lit eyes. He turned to his right and slapped the counter top repeatedly,



Drink, barkeep! Drink! Please, a drink! A Budweiser! Please!” He shouted. His voice cut through the noisy chatter surrounding us, and several people fell silent and stared at him. He paid no one any mind, least of all me, or “Tom”, and continued his diatribe with renewed vigor:


It fucking… It blows my mind! How can everyone think that they’re right, and EVERYBODY ELSE IS WRONG? … How … I mean, really, man… Where did all of their mirrors go? Right?” His eyes widened as he spoke. To our mutual surprise, the bartender rose above the counter and brought down a Budweiser hard onto the counter top. The noise stirred the young man forward and he brought up the bottle for a quick swig, his wide grin returning as he swallowed. He stared at the floor momentarily, took another drink, and placed it back on the bar. His look of fierce concentration returned.



I’m not gonna sit here, and… You know, tell YOU that I know everything there is to know. I’m not stupid, like that, you know? I’m not. But THESE fucking people, right? Just… All of these fucking jokers that… That wanna be on top so bad, making all of the rules… And, like… Deciding what’s MORAL and shit. What’s THAT? We’re just supposed to… ” He pauses momentarily, and then raises the bottle to his lips once before going on:



We’re supposed to let them dictate whatever they want? Try to set their… Their bull shit in stone so that the rest of the world’s more like THEM?”



He slammed his bottle back down onto the bar. His face fell, and he drooped his head forward, looking exasperated and tired. I waited for another escalation, but he at last seemed content with being quiet. My drinks had long since been sat in front of me, and I took hold of the whiskey and downed it quickly, chasing it with a small sip of my own beer. Young dreadlocks sat motionless, looking tragic and downcast. I couldn’t help but feel for him, despite his strangeness and obvious intoxication. Why not engage an interesting stranger?



I don’t think there’s too much to worry about. Don’t you think that there are decent people in this world? Ones who will influence others by example, instead of force?” I asked him, wondering if my voice might make him aware of the fact that I am not Tom.



He turned and raised his head level with mine, all of the vacancy leaving his face, and he spoke with a sad, but deliberate tone:



I do think that… But, I … I don’t think they’re ever going to be loud enough to stand out. You know, Tom? Like… They’ll always be there… They’ll always be shouting too, but… They’ll never drown out the people who, just… THINK they’re right.”



And with that, he took his beer, turned away from me and walked, on unstable footing toward the surging crowd, disappearing between the many dancing bodies.


Part of me wanted to laugh, and I did, a little bit. I took another short, meaningless little drink of my cheap, bitter, sour-as-shit draft beer and stared across the way at all of the lights, all of the glittering glass, all of the reaching arms and trickling liquids across the length of the bar. Feeling sobered and unhappy, I stared at nothing, hoping to catch no eyes, no attention.



I took another drink; longer this time. More to be had. It was starting to get a little warm, but still, it was refreshing. Another one, and make it good.



Once more. And at this point, we might as well finish the job.



What’s there to do now but go into the crowd as well.


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Inside the Closet

D. E. A. F.

We stare into the black abyss

A world surmised by nothingness.

The only illumination is from under the closet door,

and your only companion, the cold hard floor.


You hear them scream, you hear them yell.

But they can't find you, and the dark will never tell.

Curl in a ball and press back against the wall.

Too afraid to answer their call.


We are small and filled with fear,

We cannot sob for they may hear.

We don't want to feel the slap of their palm.

Then have to lie when teachers ask whats wrong.


When they drink like this there is no reason.

And the slightest infraction will bring on a beating.

They'll yell in your face and you smell it on their breathe.

It smells like desperation and it smells of death.


We used to think being in the light was fine.

Until they beat up our body and shattered our mind.

Here in this space, with its absence of light.

Where no matter what time it is the middle of night.


We will stay here, stay safe, and hide away.

Not listening to apologies and lies they say.

It's cold on this floor, without a blanket.

But it still is safer than coming out the closet.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

It's another poem about abused children. Who were so abused they believe its better to live in the darkness than outside it.

Its also connected to my other posted poem "They Call Me It"

Feel free to read that one also and give feed back on both

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Mother's Tears.

D. E. A. F.

Are like scalding hot drops,

of melting metal.

They sear their way through my skin.

I cannot bear the sight of her tears,

So I turn my back and walk away.

And let her cry.

So she drowns her tears.

In Brandy, Vodka, Rum,

And Wine Coolers.

So do I...

I wait


In the darkness

until she is too drunk to notice.

She sleeps.

And I crawl from my hotel room bed.

Into the bathroom

and drink.

The scalding liquid like fire...

Like Mother's tears.

And then I fill it with water,

shake the bottle


she won't notice.

Then I lay down and


To the sobs from my mother's soul.

Though she remains asleep she still


Does she cry because of


Or does she cry for


Or does she simply cry because she


that I have become like her

Drowning my sorrows

In scalding liquid

That tastes of

Mother's Tears.....

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Its about a mother and Child who both drown their demons in the same way.

All that matters is that it makes you FEEL something at least so yead....Enjoy and Comment

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I Have A Right

I don't want to anymore...
Every  time i do I always end up on the floor.
Just laying there.
Whether or not i should even bother getting back up.
Just please, somebody, fill this cup.
fill this cup up with something that wont fuck me up.
I've had enough of the poison,
Enough of the noise in my head,
Enough wishing  I was dead.
I will regain my composure from this mentality of lead.
I will find myself,
Reattatch my shoulders to my head.
I will find my peace of mind,
No more leaving my own desires behind.
Just wait and you will see me in the light of another kind.
I will win this fight,
I will find my light.
Don't think I won't make it out,
because i just might.
It is my right.
My right to survive,
my right to be alive.

- The Fever

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Vibrant Blue

What is this color I see?

It's been everywhere I look, no matter where I may be.

It's like a vibrant blue,

so bright, with a warmth that radiates from it's hue.


I wonder, what are you? Why are you all I see?

It won't respond to me, but it sweeps over me with this feeling of ecstasy,

comforting me.


I try to follow it,

But it constantly eludes me.

Is it even aware of my existence?

Vibrant blue, I can see you so clearly, but do you even see me?

The thought of it drives me crazy.

Or was I already crazy for thinking this color can comfort me in the first place?


It's been so long now since I first felt the vibrant blue's embrace,

and now I'm starting to realize it's slowly fading from my sight without a trace.


No! Don't go vibrant blue,

Please come back to me!

Without your light I can't see!

...I miss you.


yet no matter how badly I want it to remain,

The color slowly fades away,

Leaving me with this disdain.

The vibrant blue begins to distain.

As it grows dark, the warmth turns to pain,

And just now in the fading light I can see why this is the way I must remain.


- The Fever

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Vibrant Blue = Color of the first beer bottle I've drunk from

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What is pain?

Finished Poems

Pain, it's never evil but never good;

It's pure hurt, betrayal, depression;

It's a dagger in your heart that you wish would go away;

You cry, take it out on yourself, push everyone away;

You're angry, so angry you can't get it out your mind;

Pain makes you go insane;

Pain drags behind you like a shadow that puts you down;

Pain gives you the excuse to drink;

The excuse to stare at the needle in your arm waiting;

Praying for it to fall out on it's own;

As you stare at the overdose in your mind;

The excuse for you to forget what or even who you are inside;

It gives you the excuse to jump off the edge;

End up six feet under;

Pain, it's NEVER evil but NEVER good.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem is about all the people who are alcholics, suicidal, emo, and drug addicts. The people who don't know what to do. This, this is what they feel, what I feel, what the world feels when in pain.

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Of Sin and Sorrow

Welcome the opium, caressing your being.

You know that it’s wrong, but oh so freeing,

Baby close your eyes, let it all in.

Come, let us bathe in Sin.

Taste that sweet poison, lithium to your lips.

This is all playing out, like actors with scripts.

Imbibe a little more, and watch the room spin.

Come, let us bathe in Sin.

Our bodies intertwined,

While slowly I whine.

Don’t do this, You know you’re in bliss;

Just stay right here, skin on skin.

Come, let us bathe in Sin.

Striding toward the door,

Mumbling, “what a whore”.

No, what have I done?

Please, please hun.

Come, let us bathe in Sorrow.

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You were my greatest adventure
And my biggest mistake
There is no simplicity
We lost ourselves
This can not go on
I need normalcy
I need to feel whole again
Who will SAVE ME
I am lost
Half Alive
Brick by Brick
I build my wall
I light another cigarette
I make another drink

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This was the first product of a night in which involved a vast amount of alcohol.

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As My Blood Turns To Alcohol

I need to be drunk,
I need to feel pain,
but from it, what do I gain?
Nothing, I'm just slowly being slain.
And by my own hand,
my own fucking demand.

Just look at me, how I spend my day.
The second I hear the alarm clock,
I'm reaching for that bottle of bock.
Then throughout the day I grow more pale,
bottle after bottle, ale after ale.
Then every time the thought to stop comes about,
I drown my doubt in a bottle of stout.

And to think it all started as a test,
Now I cant live without the taste, the sweetness,
Is there such a thing as alcohol proof happiness?

In my mind I'm screaming,
Somebody stop me!
I need help!
Don't leave me for dead!
I don't even sleep at night, I just lie in bed,
because there's nothing louder in my head than these words I never said.

Now I have a prediction,
about the future of my addiction.
I'd like to say I'll recover some day,
But I've never been one for words of fiction.
Odds are I'll continue to cave,
Until I meet an early grave.
Is there any other way to live with this insatiable crave?

-The Fever

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