Thoughts of the alcoholic apple

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He shivers in front of vivacious vodka bottles
Each of the conceited corks cackling at him
As he dreadfully desires such things

The smug strawberry of a doctor told him his liver was dying
The pestering prune of the physiologist nods a blank head of disapproval
And the ghastly grapes of group therapy only humiliates him even more

He wondered if he was alone
Of course, there was…

That woeful weed smoking watermelon sitting by him
The crack-craving cantaloupe was on the second floor
And of course, he could not forget his meth making melon of a roommate

However, all were malicious melons
Was there another appalling apple to share his love of booze?

Though the apple was not able to meet another alcoholic
Since a set of terrible teeth devoured away his dreadful soul





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