I used to drink myself to sleep.
I found comfort in the bottle.
I remember the taste on my lips,
the curve in my hand and
I still feel the burn in the pit of my stomach.
The whiskey sings a sweet low song and
I can only hold my empty glass, sing along.
I can only hold an empty glass and sing along.
John Kipling Lewis
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-whiskey/
