(Felt like writing to something crude.  Doesn’t mean the scenario isn’t true.  Day 57….)

I’m going through something in life…

I have a terrible habit of drinking away my problems
I skip the cup
And ingest libations to stave off finding the proper solution another night
Tequila works the best
To kill the little bird mocking my weak will.
But he doesn’t know how good it feels…

The refrigerator opens like a contact list
The lady of choice appears on the counter
Understanding her purpose
Restore courage and maybe pull the truth from the clutter of dilemma

She offers her neck to my palm
Knowing she’ll empty herself for me
And only have the satisfaction of my satisfaction
Her lips meet mine
Elevate her even higher onto my shoulders
I only drink top shelf.
Shots are for pussies
And I down an entire clip of her.

Maybe the answer is at her bottom
I’ve grabbed it enough times to know that isn’t true
But it feels so good…
I forget everything
Round after round of liquor ingestion drowns my thoughts.
No matter how high my tolerance
She can always get me drunk.

The proof of her potency is evident
Sweat mixes with condensation
I’m aggressively distancing myself from ails
Like sobriety isn’t stronger than gravity
But I’ll worry about that later
It’s time for another bottle…