In the dim light of the midnight hour,
The bottle whispers secrets sour,
Promises of warmth, of fleeting power,
Only to leave the soul devoured.
The glass, it clinks, a mournful song,
Each sip a step where shadows throng,
A dance with darkness, deep and long,
Where right is blurred and wrong is strong.
Memories twist in a hazy mist,
Faces lost, opportunities missed,
The grip of the bottle, a tight-fisted twist,
Dreaming of days no longer kissed.
In the dawn’s light, the truth reveals,
The ache, the sorrow, the wounds that heal,
Yet scars remain, a silent seal,
Whispering of battles real.