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THE BOTTLE

by Karen Johnson
In its kaleidoscope wonder
the bottle spoke to me

 

it was my lover
my friend, undying until the end
soon to become a traitor
talking behind my back
to hear the snicker as I fall
while being tripped, set in a trap
caught off track, there is no
looking back


when drinking has you on the run
it is no longer for fun
in its silent contradiction
as if I did not have a say
the bottle became an addiction
sure to have its way
haunting me like a nightmare
growing worse within the hour
I became a victim in the stumble
I crawl in the humble, without power
Without sleeping, in the tossing
I turn
the pre-written lessons
of the lessons I have learned
the bottle sets the mood
and its rages
the bottle holds the keys
to the iron rod cages


I, to my lips, feel the rim once more
bottoms up, a candle is lit
another drunkard is drinking
still another yet another
once more, in its kaleidoscope wonder
the bottle spoke to me
the speaking of a language
first written to deceive
each day I live without it
though, I grow stronger
more self-contained
for I have finally found
there is more to life
than a mere existence
of shaking in pain.

Karen Johnson                                                                                Page design by LT