The WhiskyShip

               
          This whiskey glass holds me captive,
 locked in its grips, I run, but the bottle refuses to let go. It burns the lips with its sweet poison. It flows through the veins like a summer's cool breeze. It lies to you in a lustful way, it makes you warm inside as it slowly fades you away.

You say no more as you try to walk away, it turns, and pulls you in for another. You lose your grip as the poison consumes you to the point of no return. As it tries to hold you up, the sweet poison trickles down your throat as it suffocates you. You grasp for air as it caresses you and whispers your mine.