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Tag Archives: sobriety

Neat! NO ICE!!!

Neat! NO ICE!!!

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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.

 
5 Comments

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

 

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I can’t do this alone

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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 @ WhatsInsideAMadmansHat.com

 

 

 
 

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Who wore it better?

A small, gram bag of clarity

I had purchased from a stranger,

gambled on her claim of its purity

a clear and present danger.

A time in my life, I still wouldn’t regret

during which many brain cells were destroyed,

a time of learning and hard taught lessons

I have now rendered, null and void.

Feeling so cloudy I felt the need to use

a substance to unclutter all the shit,

nothing that I’d like to boast about

the amount, I would plainly not admit.

Please, don’t get all righteous on me

and act like you’re any better than I,

for it’s no different than a lonely housewife

chugging a glass, then a bottle of wine!

At least I never got married with children

performing a phony financial and social status,

and I’ll never feel that gut-wrenching guilt

from, drunk-driving my kids to soccer practice.

Same as clean cut, class mom, “Little Suzy”

popping “mothers little helper” on the side,

she can still look all prim and proper, yet

I’m the “junky” because mine was not prescribed?

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© 2018 Joseph Emerson @ WhatsInsideAMadmansHat.com

 

 

 

 
25 Comments

Posted by on March 25, 2018 in poetry, Uncategorized, writing

 

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What happened before 34?

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The sound of neon lights

The smell of cheap whiskey

The cloud of cigarette smoke

The uneven floors so sticky.

This reflection of my life

That once bared all of the above

Was all that I had ever known

Naturally, I mistook it for love.

Sleeping on a concrete floor

Used my shirt as a pillow

The grit and grime was so thick

You’d have to scrub with a Brillo.

Paydays would come and go

The routine was always the same

Buying all the alcohol I could carry

Hallucinogenics were always fair game.

To get dreadfully wasted away

“Trying to forget who I was”

Such a crock-of-shit thing to say

I was only looking for the buzz.

When you’re twenty-one or twenty-seven

You can’t claim to know who you really are

Fact is, you’re just a sad confused little punk

Wasting away your youth, haggard in a bar.

 

 

© 2018 Joseph Emerson @ WhatsInsideAMadmansHat.com

 

 
 

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Hello. It’s you again.

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Knock, knock! Well hello there, it’s just me again,

thought I’d stop by to see how you have been.

You didn’t think that I’d be gone forever now?

As if I could just wander off or vanish somehow?

So you withheld me from your Doctor, of mental health?

it doesn’t negate the fact that you talk to yourself.

So they don’t know that I exist at the worst of times?

When all sobriety did was suppress some of the signs.

But eventually, they’ll see us talking and ask what is wrong,

only so many times can we say that we’re mumbling a song.

We envy those who can depict what is real and what is made up,

always on the edge of our seat ready to apologize for a mix-up.

Was this all a dream? Or did that really happen?

A back and forth game of ping pong, I am constantly trapped in.

Is this all too much for you? Since you thought I was absent?

a lot like your heart, there is no possibility for our detachment.

You may think I was created from too much Lysergic acid diethylamide,

Truth being, I’ve always been here and will always be by your side…

 

 

© 2018 Joseph Emerson @ WhatsInsideAMadmansHat.com

 
 

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Just a year ago…

If you had seen me

Just a year ago,

The boy inside

you wouldn’t know.

The foolish ways

I would act and dress,

Only to “make” you

feel so impressed.

The games I played

the lies I spoke,

So full of shit

I began to choke.

It all began to spill

onto the floor,

I just couldn’t seem

to lie anymore.

I had failed to hide

the hate in me,

the shaking had shown

through anxiety.

My cover was blown

the jig was up,

I was now forced

to say it’s enough.

The tears would start

I wouldn’t know why,

Even when I was mad

I’d start to cry.

The feelings were mixed

the reasons were screwed,

and most would’ve agreed

my views were so skewed.

Fantasies of death

raced through my head,

the smile would grow

as I envisioned me dead.

The voice in my mind

would plead and beg,

I had even playfully jabbed

a knife in my leg.

Just to see

how it would feel,

an orgasmic feeling

of sharpened cold steel.

Pathetically made a list

of the family I’d miss,

as I traced with that blade

the veins in my wrist.

 

So….

If you had seen me

Just a year ago,

The boy inside

You wouldn’t, have wanted to know..

 

 

© 2018 Joseph Emerson WhatsInsideAMadmansHat.com

 

 
15 Comments

Posted by on January 2, 2018 in Mental Health, 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 WhatsInsideAMadmansHat.com

 
29 Comments

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

 

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