She said .
"It's me or the bottle *******"!

I admired the view of  the door as it smacked her on the *** .
She hit the road and me I simply hit the bar .

Played some songs on the jukebox and didn't say a word to the folks around me .

Drank till I passed out and realized the **** storm I was in the very next morning .

She was gone and I was left here alone.

Without wheels and only a lone beer in the fridge .

Well no one ever claimed I was smart .

I wonder if she could turn round somewhere in Kentucky .
Pick me up a bottle then bring that pretty little *** back meet with a smile at the door.

Run into these open arms .

Embrace those lips and face those tears .


Then sit her down hand her the money and take my bottle and
tell her thanks before I slam the door in her face .

Whiskey heals all wounds .

And as for you my dear have a safe trip .

Sincerely


John

That bartender poured my bourbon
and took an interest in my life.
'What's wrong, pal?
You can tell me.
I have all the answers.'
'Great,' I said. 'I don't know
any of the questions.'
For the rest of the night,
he left me with my typer
and silently refilled
the bourbon.

-Ron Gavalik

"I'll have a whiskey,
ginger ale on the side."
is what he says
i don't even thinks he know
what the reference is

I tasted
the sting of whiskey
on your lips as we
kissed, your body betraying
you one last time, it was saying,
“I couldn’t handle myself sober for this.”
we said our last goodbye, without
ever saying a word.

At this sushi joint,
she searched for the words
to describe her dinner.
‘It's heaven,’ she said, ‘Yes, heaven.’
Call me a simpleton, but divinity
on Earth is the sweet tinge of bourbon,
the smoke of an acid 60 gauge
that rolls over the tongue,
and the music of Pink Floyd
with the lights off.

-Ron Gavalik

Opening your soul to the public
is to swim naked in the sewer
with scores of salivating rats.
The poseurs spill their low-calorie
compliments. The haters,
they drop the most sincere insults.
Depressed, angry, mad,
I walked into the kitchen.
Standing barefoot on the cracked tiles,
Hemingway finally made sense.
A bottle of cheap whiskey
next to the coffee maker,
it had a mouthful left to go.
I figured it would see me through
and that's what it did.

-Ron Gavalik

Over years of sin,
the memories, the faces,
they're obscured by a fog
of whiskey and regret.
But I never really hurt anyone.
I was far too busy
damaging myself.

-Ron Gavalik