deepundergroundpoetry.com
At the bottom of the bottle
I took a stroll with death
staggered and stumbled,
at times death let go of
me, letting me fall on the
cold, wet ground
As I lay there my head
was spinning, the voices
mumbled and laughed
but death was still there,
waiting for my soul, all
I could say was, you're
hurting me
Death didn't care, it hovered
over me and kicked me
while I was down, it
snickered and poured
me another shot, turned
me over and passed it
through my lips, I could
see it, death, at the
bottom of the bottle
staggered and stumbled,
at times death let go of
me, letting me fall on the
cold, wet ground
As I lay there my head
was spinning, the voices
mumbled and laughed
but death was still there,
waiting for my soul, all
I could say was, you're
hurting me
Death didn't care, it hovered
over me and kicked me
while I was down, it
snickered and poured
me another shot, turned
me over and passed it
through my lips, I could
see it, death, at the
bottom of the bottle
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