I don't want to drink again
No, not from those lips
That tiny bottle of pending doom with little tiny labels marked warning.
Under the table, grabbing walls
Compensation for the shot glass full of stained breath
There is no amount of emotional comfort that doesn't lead to physical contact.
My lips; your essence
There isn't a support group that can teach that
The urge to resist the glare of the bottle
Simple steps that lead to complete disaster
The calling of your name
The way you splash against my lips.
I don't want to drink again
My bad habit
My secret craving
A distinct hint that I need you again.
Where's pride in this infatuation
The need to have you again
This uncontrollable substance
Marked with warning labels
Bottled emotion that seeps at anytime.
The need of not caring who's around.
Again, pride where are you