Tag Archives: sober

Neat! NO ICE!!!

Neat! NO ICE!!!


Hey! Pour me another my good man

this time make sure that it’s neat,

the first was watered down by ice

I love to taste the fermented wheat.

If you didn’t know what I meant,

then ask, or look it up on your phone,

I don’t need this bullshit aggravation

I would’ve stayed, and drank at home!

This is why I chose to not drink anymore,

because this was exactly how I would act,

I would find trouble in strangest of places,

my emotions had never really stayed intact.

Before I could comprehend the situation

I’d be laughing as I was brought to my knees,

I had the cops called for terroristic threats,

waiting for half price appetizers at an Applebees.

The worst part of all these stupid stories

is that, they are all embarrassingly true,

years had passed before I threw in the towel,

after failing, while searching, for what I should do.

I don’t really like to say that I have quit,

I just call it, a “necessary lifestyle change”.

I am not gonna lie, a lot of the time it was fun,

so by no means do I feel, I was ever shortchanged.


Posted by on April 26, 2018 in poetry, Uncategorized, writing


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I can’t do this alone


Heck, for all the times, that my two eyes,

had rolled into the back of my head,

you’d think I’d see my thoughts pacing,

or the addictive mind that wanted me dead.

For all the times that I had thrown it all up

the poisonous contents inside of my gut,

I”d maybe see what has been eating inside,

and make it all seem a little more clear-cut.

What’s this crawling feeling under my skin?

I wish I could slice at it, to make it bleed out,

but the last thing I need is someone asking me,

“what’s wrong?” , now that, I can do without.

The angels wouldn’t even try to enter my soul,

they claimed they had taken the wrong turn,

they just knew if they tried to enter my aura,

like entering earth’s atmosphere, they’d burn.

So I am left all alone to battle these demons,

maybe I’ll just ask politely if we can coexist,

I humbly admit…

I can’t do without help, that I require from family,

my friends, or in this case I guess, an exorcist.



© 2018 Joseph Emerson @




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Put that in your pipe and smoke it


What is this stuff

that makes me so numb?

You can roll it, and burn it

and it makes you feel dumb?

Wow that sounds great

sure, you can sign me up.

I love wasting my time

who’s got the hook-up?

Only have to meet a stranger

with a pocket full of cash?

Then hope for the best

he won’t rob and kick my ass?

Geez, and all this time

I’ve been playing it safe.

I was told it would kill me

when I was just a small waif.

Young and naive

I listened to the warning.

Come to find,

my life was just boring?

Inhaling tons of food.

“Where the hell are my keys?”

I swear I’d go crazy

If I wasn’t so “at ease.”

On second thought.

I think I might pass.

I happen to like how I am…

without any grass.


© 2018 Joseph Emerson @





Posted by on February 22, 2018 in poetry, writing


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Idle hands = Death

Callused hands

from a blistered mind,

in overdrive

working overtime.

So naturally

it comes to me,

like a cruising ship

takes to the sea.

But when it drifts

back to the shore,

brings my biggest fear

of being bored.

Creating images

inside my head,

until the day

I wake up dead.

For if I don’t

my brain gets weak,

looking for comfort

in the drugs I seek.

My sober mind

needs stimulation,

as to be kept from

dark isolation.

So in conclusion

or in summary,

I’ll work my hands

until they bleed…



© 2017 Joseph Emerson


Posted by on December 16, 2017 in Mental Health, poetry, writing


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