A cocktease pours a glass of water
Cocktail he would call this drink
Sipped from a tale too tall
that the man himself couldn’t trick his ACC
Traced out the name of a long lost love
in the frost ‘neath the rim where his lips would meet
Bubbles from bastards
Phantom fizz
forced his beguiled cheeks to freeze
Neon lights by the bar stayed sharp
like an image fixed in post for screens
Not a familiar glimpse—
that alone pulled the rug from beneath his feet
Jukebox screams Sweet Caroline
with a bah bah bah
He’s counting sheep
Fire sparks in a lonely corner
Sprinklers drench his cotton sheets
Taking cover
he dips down
and rests his temple upon a stool
Cushion feels familiar—
like a pillow squeezed by a long lost fool
Shades that hide the windows of his soul burst open
One
Two
Three
White noise from the TV spells two letters out:
D
T
Jello in the knees still wobbling
He stands up and meets the wall
Climbs the stairs that feel like swords
Kneels atop a porcelain throne
Purges all the toxic traits
Head in palms, he implores:
How does a struggling soul get rest
when the rest itself is request for war?
Contributor: Kye Merrick (Corey-Ross Miles) @kyemerrick
SOBER POETRY: This is a space where recovery and creativity meet. It features heartfelt verses that capture the emotions of sobriety. Written by various Sober Curator Contributors and readers about their recovery journeys, these poems provide inspiration, healing, and reflection for readers seeking solace and connection.
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