Men and Their Drinking

The man in the bar sits alone at the counter, and stares down at his drink. Many more will come and poison his blood, and he loves it. Swept off from the stool, he's whisked up in the stank of air around him, he is lost in the aroma of his poisoned blood.

Dropping back to the stool, his stomach floods, and a quick trip to the restroom ends with more drinks from the bar, where he sits. "I think you've had enough sir," the bartender stammers to his guest.
"Fuck you, scotch of the rocks."
And he pours it down his throat. Burning as it slides down, the feeling comforts him to the point of numbness, where he knows not the feeling of his face nor hands.

A cigarette is placed in his mouth from the gods above. He thanks his invisible savior, and lights the cigarette, inhaling deep. He exhales and is lost in the empty smoke, now spreading through the lonely bar.

The man hits his cigarette again and wishes for a lonely women, to sit down next to him and take all his worry away. If only his invisible savior could bring him a fine piece of pussy! But he looks around and the bar is empty, except for him and the smoke that dances through the room and his lungs, hiding his sorrow. He doesn't care.

He wishes to go home and cry in his bed, or fold his dry, cracked hands onto his eyes and let his aching out. The world must be against him, because this bar is his home, or at least has become it. His hurt is drowned with alcohol, that numbs the pulses of insanity floating through his head.

No one taught him to be a man, and whatever trace he had, has been lost. He was forever lost after the day he walked into this bar. Whatever comforts him works, and thats okay with him. He stands up and walks behind the bar and pours himself a drink.
"This is my home."

A Day At the Beach

Her feet sink into the shallow, wet sand.
The sun burns through the thick, condensed fog
covering the sky,
and reflects off the damp sand,
sending up a glaze as far as
her eyes can see.

She is alone, in her mind
and no one takes up the space around her.
The ocean is her only friend,
the vast, empty beauty represents
her soul, and the breeze lifts her
out of the pockets of sand that have
collected around her feet.
Her thoughts roll back and forth
like the tide rolls up around
her ankles,
and then back to sea.

She wishes to be carried out to sea.
To float alone, to every corner of our
Strange Planet,
and then sink to the bottom.
To fill her lungs full of the stinking
sea water, and never let it out.