Last Shot Of Whiskey

She contemplated that last shot of whiskey.
There was something about the way it burned on the way down her throat as if it were burning away all the evidence of her daily antics.
Something that drew her to the bottle as if it were the only heaven that existed.
But there was tomorrow to take into account, waking the pain would ultimately return,
Whisky only temporarily numbed her to the hurt.

Still that bottle called her name all the same.
Still she longed for a few oblivious hours free of all the pain.
She clenched her fist trying to resist the urge to drown the images that haunted her troubled mind.
She longed for the burn that would give her demons flight,
Wither them to ash, just for the night.
As images broke her argument with pros and cons,
And her mind flooded with the pole under the neon lights,
Dollar bills being thrown at her as if they were drugs and she naked and bare for anyone that cared to see ,was the junkie.
Men...filthy dirty animals reaching to grab a handful of her most intimate peaks.
With these thoughts haunting her she grew weak,
Bottle to her lips....down went that last shot of whisky.