Don't cha know my name?
it's me. the liquid sliding over iced glass.
the daily use that craving never fulfills.
yes, the sound of clinking ice, cracking when poured over
over cubes that become reflected life.
it's me. a desperate resonant gulp, sliding down your throat,
coursing through your veins till trembling hands and mind are stilled.
stilled in silence, numb to the stark reality that you need me.
it's me. the one you owe allegiance to, bowing each day.
stashing bottles every size shape and color. carefully hiding your precious.
just in case you forget to worship in the temple of necessity.
it's me. in manifest profusion of forms to the populace.
every sip, puff or swallow a step closer to your last.
cycling back to again to your first.
it's hard to deny my compelling force of want.
it's me. buffering your pain with commanding adherence.
using me for all your ills, no other god stands before me
when you love the taste and feel, laying your down for just one taste.
it's me. disguised in smoke and mirrors.
reflected in forms of needles, power and crystallized potions.
i am the passion you live for, with devotion that empties your bank,
crushing those who love you, siphoning your life dry.
it's me the face and embodiment of kaleidoscopic substances.
the drink of spirits, misleading the search for meaning,
a deceptively smooth slide into oblivion, till death do we part.
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