The Bottle Poem by Bee Rye

As I look at this bottle
I sit here and think;
As I put it to my mouth,
Do I need another drink?

As I try and place blame,
It's driving me insane
I drink from the bottle just to kill the pain.

In some ways the bottle is my friend,
or so I pretend.
The taste of the liquor so pure and so strong,
Makes me feel like the bottle, is where I belong.

See the bottle and I have an agreement,
When I meet someone else, I'll go and get treatment.

But the bottles so kind,
it helps me forget,
Then She gets In my mind
And makes me regret.

I still go to work everyday,
But the bottle is there
I've began to decay
It's getting worse,
It'll all probably end with a slow ride in a Hearse.