Wine and Liquor, Never Sicker

Coated was he, in blankets of dreary misery. 
Dripping with that solemness, 
the kind you could only find at the bottom of 
a bottle, screwed shut so tight,
you never really could get it to open for me
could you?

I asked, sullenly, from across my low self-esteem, ‘Would you care for a drink?’
The syrup is stronger come nightfall. 
The price of the vice much higher. 
Wine and liquor, never sicker. 

The years flew by for me as mere minutes, 
and I spent all of them idled in a tipsy stupor. 

I forgot what your face looked like,
eventually
,
but my memory of you is still the same,
bottled and 
bland.  

BIATA

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