Drink


I've likened to the whiskey.
I've likened to the gin.
I've likened to loose women.
I've likened to countless sin.

I do not like what I am, but I know what I am meant to be.
A shaggy haired bearded man, destined to fall down to his knee.
I am constantly in a hole looking for the rim.
Climbing toward nothingness before my grip gives in.

I return to the bourbon.
I return to the scotch.
I return to vile women.
I return to my sin.

I land hard on the rocks, tired of my constant battle.
Determined to end the endless fight raging from within,
I dust myself off wiping the drink from my chin.
I toss away that bottle, steading for the climb once again.
This time, resolute to find the golden rim,
I ascend toward the light scared not of falling back down again.

I turn to the wine.
I turn to the bread.
I turn toward the Father almighty,
Done away with my sin.

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