You tell yourself, just one more.
Just one more sip to ease the pain.
One more sip to make it go away.

You’re addicted to the soothing burn.
With the tingling vibration.

You’re obsessed with the hope of the tables turned.
Accompanied by the false sensation.

You slump on the stool.
Eyes bloodshot red.

Yet, you tell the bartender,
Make it a double shot instead.

Reminiscing on the good times,
Reminiscing on the bad,
wishing you could have everything you once had.

You keep on using that Bacardi as your shovel,
Just digging your hole deeper.
Honey, good luck getting back to a time so much sweeter.

Back to the norm.
Back to the good ole days.
Back to the days you wished you’d never changed.

You remember the smiling faces,
Of the loved ones you’d do anything for.

You remember the way your husband held you close,
The one you adored.

Look at them now, sweetie.
Look at what you’ve done.

They gather over your bed,
With faucets streaming down their faces.
They kiss you one last time,
Wishing one more story.
One more day.
One more wish to make it go away.

You hold their hands as you pass.
Telling them to stay strong.
To forget about all the ways that you went wrong.

If only you didn’t take that first sip.
If only you found a better way.
Maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t have died in such a wicked way.