It is a slight sip at first.
Wetting the tongue and
Soothing the throat.

But soon you are taking big gulps,
Forcing yourself to choke down the frustration
That tries to push its way past your throat.

Now you are drowning
In an ocean of your virtue.
Stomach bloated from
All your long-suffering.

"Have you had your fill yet?"
They'll ask you.
"No, no, there's always room for more."

I'm older now,
And the drink is far too bitter.
It tastes of pain and anger and sadness.
I don't think I could manage a single sip.