Seven years spent with the bottle – a poem

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seven years spent with a bottle.

his twisting wrist once liberated him

and chug-a-lugs were wings

flapping him up, up, and away…

only he never leapt one damn building

seven years spent with the bottle.

his bloodshot eyes

and busted hopes

are the jailers locking him behind

iron-memory bars

that imprison him in tears shed

for a love he no longer holds

seven years spent in a bottle

his rotting heart won’t make an eighth

but the bottle knows

that’s just the way it goes….

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