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She reaches
out from the depths,
Dark and twisted,
With temptations and enticements,
With visions and promises,
Visions of what it will be like,
(Lies),
And visions of what is,
(More lies).
I lust
after this dark sorceress,
Give in to her demands,
Do her bidding,
Only to tumble over the precipice,
Drag myself to the top,
And stumble again and again and again.
There are
promises made and broken,
As I lie to myself and others,
Then fall upon the heap,
Like some rotting vegetation,
To become a thing of disgust,
Ignored or avoided at all costs,
Worthless in my own eyes.
"Just one
more drink,
Then it will be the last,
Just one more drink."
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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