Whiskey Poem by Jack Rolph

I reach through the shadows of a kitchen,
groping the air for the friend I need.
I touch your neck, cold on my skin:
my lifeline as my spirit bleeds.

I reach for a glass, transparent,
like the people on a subway train.
Then, I pour some amber whispers
that stifle screams of pain.

I wander in lonely silence
through the motions of my life,
and yearn for all that might have been
had I not bowed to strife.

So as I lay here in my bedsit,
devoid of love or light,
I'll let your arms embrace me
as I drift on into night.