The poet spoke in an empty room
His yellow tie swirled around his glass of lemon gin
The cigarette smoke was thick enough to float on
And the walls echoed with last night’s sin
The bar an alter with every kind of spirit
Vodka and gin, tequila and rum, whisky and wine
It is said that you can see the demon of each alcohol
When you are drunk and completely out of your mind
With heavy eyes the poet sank into his arm chair
Each rising bubble in his glass a reflection of memory
For lemon gin has a subtle way of working its vice
Fermenting an endless reverie
Just as the last sparkle of gin broke into the foul air
The poet cried out his last breath with utter gloom
Why my darling love have you forsaken me!?
Swirling into a pit-less doom
The sound bounced off every wall within the empty room
Only those who are drunk with spirits can truly hear it
Then the poet collapsed into the ground without a sound
No one dared to say a word about it.
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