It calls to me.
To every fiber of my being.
Like my father.
And my father’s father.
Brought to my knees by one sip, one hit.
One is too much. One is never enough.
I’ve seen the consequences.
I’ve felt the consequences.
I hate it. I love it.
It drowns me. It brings me to life.
It’s in my blood. It’s who I am.
No. Sip. Yes. Hit.
Eyelids heavy. Cells on fire.
It will come for me eventually.
The death of me, I’m sure.
But
For now
A fight for another day.
Words Of Birds 