"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.