CURE BOTTLE

The bottle beckons, a siren's call,
Its amber depths, a soothing pall,
A liquid escape from life's cruel sting,
A numbing balm for everything.

The first sip is a taste of relief,
A fleeting moment of pure belief,
That everything's better with a drink in hand,
That life's struggles can be made to stand.

But soon, the taste becomes a need,
A craving that's hard to keep in heed,
A thirst that can't be quenched or filled,
A hunger that can never be stilled.

The bottle becomes a way of life,
A constant companion in strife,
A source of comfort and a false friend,
A one-way path that never ends.

The grip of addiction tightens its hold,
A demon that never grows old,
A battle fought with a will so strong,
But too often, the battle is lost before long.

The bottle that once was a cure,
Becomes a disease, hard to endure,
A thief that steals what was once so bright,
A shadow that veils the hope of light.

So if you hear the bottle call,
Remember that it's not worth the fall,
Don't let addiction claim your soul,
And don't let alcohol take its toll.