Poetry: Selections From George Gad Economou
Nights of Empty Words
nights of
empty words
of great
plans for the future
of
promising it’ll last
nothing
does
the broken
promises flash in front of my drunken eyes
like
warning signs
and I
always fall for them
even after
all these years
I want to
blame booze
I can’t
it’s my
inability to accept that most people are simply full of shit
I get
drunk
do my best
to forget all the broken promises
the nights
that meant too much
the δαυσ I
did believe in something
it’s all
right
I’ve
learned it’s better to rely on alcohol
it’s
better to be alone with three bottles of Jim Beam
than hang
out with people that will tire and disappoint you
I’m tired
of forgotten promises
of empty
words
of making
plans with people not serious about tomorrow
Jim Beam
takes me back to the past
back to
when the future did look bright
until junk
took it away
I’d rather
go back and overdose
than
endure another day of being surrounded
by people
unable to keep a single promise
it’s
exhausting and I’m tired of saying goodbye
I just
vanish once the first promise’s broken
get drunk
and forget everything
Silence
a few days
of silence more than sufficed to
bring back
my old self.
didn’t
take long to remember all the broken
promises,
all the reasons we should stay away from each other.
a few days
of silence were more than enough to
take me
back to my drunken self.
all the
broken promises appear on the wall after a bottle of Four Roses,
reminders
of all the plans we made, even though she never intended
to follow
through on a single one.
her
beautiful words have revealed themselves as the lies they were,
all the
promises lie shattered on the floor, amidst the broken
bottles of
beer I’ve launched against the wall,
and it’s
fucking all right.
a few days
of silence were required to make
me see
things clearly.
she’s
away, doing whatever and whoever she wants,
and a few
days of silence helped me regain
my true
self: a loner occupying barstools,
downing
bourbon at a rate that alarms bartenders that don’t know me,
puffing on
glass pipes and burning speedballs.
a few days
of silence were enough to bring back the self I almost abandoned
over empty
words and beautiful lies.
Ghost
of Love
lonely
nights of bourbon
of trying
to find meaning in meaningless relationships
there’s
nothing there
friendships
evaporate faster than heroin vapor from a burning spoon
sexual
attraction dissipates the moment the first word is uttered
there’s
nothing nowhere
only
overproof booze to keep the nights warm
after
Emily I haven’t found anyone
that could
come close to what we had
did my
best to move on
for years
I’ve tried
I’ve
failed
until I
embraced the truth
I found
true love at 20 and lost it at 21
fifteen
years later Emily’s still on my mind
her ghost
sleeps next to me
I see
spoons and I think of her and of our last night together
everyone
else’s been but cheap replacements and it’s
fucking
all right because she set the bar too damn high
I don’t
get high anymore
I’m ready
to burn the spoon one more time
after five
drinks her ghost appears
after
seven drinks I feel her hand on my shoulder
after nine
drinks I can taste her kisses
and that’s
all I want and need until the day
I burn an
8ball so I can see if she is waiting on the other side
Forgetting
lowering
my heart into a vat of bourbon
realizing
I’ve fallen for the wrong person again.
it’s hard
to say goodbye
but I have
to.
every
drunk night I’m ready to; then, she
texts me
in the morning and makes me
forget
about my drunken resolution.
it’s time
to embark on a proper bender,
a
three-week alcohol excursion to completely
forget her
empty promises and
the future
she made me believe in.
bourbon in
my heart, heroin in my soul,
I’m
fucking done yet I
know I’m
just one text away from
going back
to the starting line.
I need to
stay drunk,
I need to
maintain a perfect state of intoxication for
long
enough to forget she even exists.
then, I’ll
be free once more.
it’ll be a
long battle,
I’ve won
harder wars.
time to
crack another bottle of rotgut.
Lost
Nights
long days
and nights under the purple sky
tequila
out of the bottle and glass in the pipe
embracing
the madness
free of
societal shackles
not caring
about decency or the world
we were
free and we knew we’d last
forever
madly in
love and in love with lunacy
we’d
splash in the frozen sea like crazy children
we’d hug
under the rain
chug
bottles of tequila and kiss under the moonlight
nothing
could stop us
nothing
could separate us
those long
days and nights under the purple sky
were meant
to be our forevermore
until it
collapsed
thanks to
the needle and the spoon
and for
months I chased dragons in flaming meadows
alone
in a
constant state of high trying to hide
from the
ghost of love reminding me that
I had lost
what most people spend a lifetime chasing
George Gad Economou has a Master’s degree in Philosophy of Science, currently works as a freelance writer, and has published three novels and three poetry collections. His latest book is Smoking Rot Gut Drinking Junk (Anxiety Press). His work has appeared in various publications, including Spillwords Press, Ariel Chart, Cajun Mutt Press, Fixator Press, Horror Sleaze Trash, Outcast Press, The Piker Press, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review, and Modern Drunkard Magazine.