It drips down my throat
Warm
Familiar
Unbroken
Drops of Ambrosia
It is my answer
Drowning
Smudging
Washed-out
Grey days
It holds me
Gently
Sinking
Quietly
My last refuge
I wake
Bright lights
Sharp corners
Scattered glass
I trudge
Back
To the real
Living Rhythm
I insist
This
Will be the day
I breathe
But this air
Is jagged
On my papered throat
And so
It finds me
Staring down
The bottle
Again
