The Devil's Brew

Another brutal morning. Empty bottles on the floor.
Covered in sweat and piss, all I can think is, 'Need more'.
I have to crawl to the bathroom. But my body is aching.
Hopefully, I'll just vomit twice and then shit without shaking.
I need water and I'd say food...I haven't eaten for days.
How did it ever get this bad? I feel so lost in the haze.
I might have some hand sanitizer or some mouthwash left.
Without some amount of alcohol in me, I'll be totally effed.
God, I really need help. Suicidal Ideation sets in.
Death would be sweet relief, but I'd rather live in sin.
If I can make it to the store, I have to steal the booze.
I'm too hungover to care. What have I got to lose?
I'd sleep more if I could, but my thoughts are still racing.
I think of my ex's, my father dieing, and all the problems I'm facing.
Booze will soothe the pain and silence all the chatter.
It always does. Always will. It's the only thing that matters.
I am a slave to alcohol. And so was my deceased father.
I have to quit and start over. But, today? Why bother?
The Devil's Brew.