Alcoholic Poetry 7

it conspires to know
how lies become truth,
and the opposite;

with a jagged razor
it gnaws through the
veins nearest to the surface.

lessons fraught with
too much experience,
teach me little more than
to give up.

if there is a chaser to
help me swallow what
now fills my glass,
it's sure to chase me in
everything i do.

few things are permanent;
the number on the bottle,
the smile on the face as
it begs another kiss.

how it tastes different
every time, because you're
gone a little more than you were
the last time that i counted.