The Drink
As I wipe the beads of sweat,
from my brow,
my trembling hands,
reach for the bottle
staring at me upon the table.
Over time, my mind
has learned,
to play the game so well.
Beckoning me on,
as it promises,
one taste, upon my lips
will end all pain,
from loneliness, heartache,
along with my feelings
of despair.
With each sip,
of the drink
my hands, become steady,
and yet,
as time passes on
my mind,
has won again,
this game we play,
for I have lost,
and all reasoning,
is gone.
Copyright © Carla Cox | Year Posted 2007
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