Author Information
Dread
I look for you in the bottom of the bottle.
The loneliness sets in.
Slowly going into my old ways.
And then the devil appears.
Bottle in hand and devil on shoulder.
The month of dread.
The month of hell.
Anger flys and the bottle falls.
I go crashing to the ground.
Waiting to be picked up.
But no, hes not here to pick me up.
Hes gone and never to return.
And it hits over and thefear comes in.
I love this, the way you
I love this, the way you portray the the bottle to fill the void, but it doesn't. So very well written I applaud you.
"Some people die at 25 but buried at 75" Benjamin Franklin