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Published on July 11, 2017

"The Great 'ism'"

My liver is destroyed but the memories remain.
No amount of liquor could erase this pain.
Each burning swig does not cleanse my mind,
So I reach for another bottle, but there’s only emptiness to find.

I lose count of the glasses, the ounces, the sips,
My senses escape me, but the depression still hits.
The stronger the better, regarding these drinks,
Until I reach the point where I can no longer think.

But I begin to remember what I drink to forget.
I poison my body to be free of torment and yet
Here still I sit with a drink in my hand -
I have been, will be, and am a sick man.

“Cheers,” I say aloud, although no one is around.
I drink to good health, and the irony resounds.
I down one last glass, and from consciousness, I pass.
Peace of mind soon comes to me at last.

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