Drowning in the pool of temptation,
Bottles clink against each other
In attempts to peel away reality
From his eyes;

They are
Black
And desolate,
The poison finally sputtering through his veins,
The bottles clinking solemnly like funeral bells.
He reaches for another,
And another,
Lips trembling as they brush against
The seducing mouth of a bottle.
Just one more, one more,
One
More.
It’s his escape, just like this is mine,
No more sinister than the next.
The clinking grows louder in his ears,
Pronouncing something to come;
His heart freezes,
Dark eyes dart frantically,
Yet still he reaches
For more…

Oh, we should have warned him
That there’s simply never enough
Before the poison
Wants more
Of you.