I bring it to my lips and tip it into my mouth,
Feeling it as it burns like hellfire into my throat,
The liquid fire courses through me,
Burning into my being, easing my pain,
Even as the memories that it evokes,
Rip at my soul, my will to be,
But it calms my jangled nerves,
Yet let's me get to the sleep that I crave,
Yet once I'm there the nightmares begin,
It's then, in that restless sleep,
I lose my touch with reality,
I no longer know what exists,
And what is merely an image,
Conjured by my mind, to torment me,
My senses, my feelings, are under attack,
My limbs are no longer under my control,
And I beg them to listen to me and not some unseen force,
Hell bent on bringing me to my knees.
The worst though is that,
I am no longer able to judge,
What is wrong or what is right,
I only want to do that which will ease my pain,
Lessen my suffering, help me,
Guilt fills me as I spectate on the show before me,
Knowing that my participation will soon be called for,
And, just as I feel that I must surely go under,
Surrender to the demons that taunt me,
A strong hand reaches me and pulls me,
Screaming from the pit of my despair.
From Hell it was an angel's grip that saved me,
But this time the hand that reaches for me is that of another,
This time the hands that try to save me are those of my brother.
I reach once again for the release that the alcohol brings,
And the cycle begins again as I bring the bottle to my lips,
Hell for me, is at the top and the bottom of this whisky bottle,
Salvation and damnation the flip sides of the same coin,
For I fear that the hands that just now hold me anchored in this world,
Both those of the angel and of my brother,
Will one day be the ones that push me back down into the darkness,
And this time, I will scream and I will burn forever.
Salvation is a relative thing.
