Hidden Pain
As he put the bottle to his lips, a little voice told him it was wrong,
He already knew this; he'd lost his fight to be strong.
His battle was far from over, a war was yet to be fought,
He needed this one last drink, he was more than distraught.
The bottle called to him, so did the little voice inside his head,
He curled up in agony, in the mess he called his bed.
As he screamed in pain, his voice hoarse and raw,
The bottle slipped from his fingers, he vowed to drink no more.
He raised his weary head, from his sweat soaked pillow,
His mind and body swayed, just like a weeping willow.
He knew he wouldn't survive much longer, in this alcoholic state,
He had to confront his demons, or the devil would seal his fate.
March 2016
Copyright © Kay Roberts | Year Posted 2016
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