brosedshield (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
brosedshield) wrote2011-04-03 02:36 am
brosedshield) wrote2011-04-03 02:36 am
Entry tags:
"Let's play the drunk and miserable game"
* * *
Let’s play the drunk-and-miserable game.
I’ll go first.
I say, “Let’s drink the bottle!”
And you say nothing because you’re not here.
So I drink the bottle.
The more I hit the walls walking home
The more I know it isn’t fun
I’m far gone, practically blind
And you say nothing, because you’re not here.
But I still have a bottle
Don’t worry that I drink alone.
It’s just because I haven’t any friends.
Wait.
That is, no friends here.
I have friends, just I left them.
And I don’t talk to anyone here.
Wait.
It’s not like I drink that much.
I’m not drunk.
It’s just a bottle.
* * *
This poem comes from when I was a good deal more sad and lonely in Spain than I am now. And also from the fact that there is no good way to talk about drinking alone that doesn't come off as depressing (I don't like going outside my house, and then becoming intoxicated around strangers whose language I'm not even 95% effective in; why is that more socially acceptable than having a few glasses of wine in one's apartment? SEE, EVEN THERE, IT LOOKS DEPRESSING.)
Apparently, I was planning to make this into a song. Hmmm, now where did that melody go...
Let’s play the drunk-and-miserable game.
I’ll go first.
I say, “Let’s drink the bottle!”
And you say nothing because you’re not here.
So I drink the bottle.
The more I hit the walls walking home
The more I know it isn’t fun
I’m far gone, practically blind
And you say nothing, because you’re not here.
But I still have a bottle
Don’t worry that I drink alone.
It’s just because I haven’t any friends.
Wait.
That is, no friends here.
I have friends, just I left them.
And I don’t talk to anyone here.
Wait.
It’s not like I drink that much.
I’m not drunk.
It’s just a bottle.
* * *
This poem comes from when I was a good deal more sad and lonely in Spain than I am now. And also from the fact that there is no good way to talk about drinking alone that doesn't come off as depressing (I don't like going outside my house, and then becoming intoxicated around strangers whose language I'm not even 95% effective in; why is that more socially acceptable than having a few glasses of wine in one's apartment? SEE, EVEN THERE, IT LOOKS DEPRESSING.)
Apparently, I was planning to make this into a song. Hmmm, now where did that melody go...
no subject
YES, I know what you mean about Freak Camp being written at a SCHOOL. Sometimes the only reason I'm comfortable doing it is they REALLY aren't going to understand what I'm writing anyway. Yup, torture, death and sexual assault written at work. Good times.