The drink is poured
Once more I drought deep
The swill does not quench my thirst
For thirst I do not seek
As the liquid goes to the darkness
Of my gullet
I ask for another pour
And think
nothing of it
For bottomless now the cup
And for sustenance 
I need not sup
For once the mull has taken hold
I slip ever so slightly into that hole
Newer was the light that the drink at first stirred up
And now the quest  for such brilliance I have not saught
Hope slips effortlessly
Away from me
As I look about expecting to be
Pointed out
And called drunkard..liar
Weakest man around
But in this place there is not one
Who can be found
To lift his head higher from
His cup
His shame
His misery
No man to stop him
No woman to turn his hand
Only himself
And himself to blame
But blame is fruitless
And the spirits are cheap
Another round is needed
And this leads to sleep
And dreams are distorted as is the
Truth..
Especially when
guzzling gin and vermouth.