For the Whiskey...
For the Whiskey...
by Marc Lionhart07 Mar 2014
Tipped the bottle further down with a gaping grin, allowed the bourbon to pour like a hot waterfall into my stained glass
Took a toke from the outside myst, mmm-was couloured a fine grey
Hearing a rather beautiful rendition of Sweet Child O' Mine in swing, while I sip my whiskey and smirk a frivolous happy-jack traveler's smile
The bar hums loudly. Above me sits a large statue of a jazz man playing a trumpet with wide eyes
I turn my head and peer across the lounge to see dancers and muso's unleashing the passion within, abolishing their debts in this intense diegesis
Problems at the door as usual, leave them packed neat as the neat spirits that haunt you, whisper over your shoulder saying "drink"
The glasses steam up in the heat of the raging atmosphere within this place, our place, full of scorn and drain cleaner alcohol
Not a place for your elderly mother so dying and cold. She fell and never got back up and now you're drowning your sorrows with the rest of us
The night leaves its mark deep within the gashes running course along our veins, the rocking glasses sing rhythm with the live music filled half with high content spirits, among the smoke of the damned, we are alight
I'll take mine neat if you don't mind, I'll take it fast with the burn making my voice hoarse
Got a rock singer's voice now. Got a hard rock lithium line pertinent depression to follow
Slicked back my hair and edged over to the nearest finely dressed woman, drink in hand, and pursed my thoughts
Her challenge begun among the smoke with my glass, and hers, cupped hands kissing the air
Life got me handed down, got me arrested and put on trial
The bar gave me sanctuary, the whiskey was my friend, and my friends were long gone
God I hope I have more booze at home.