I’m a quiet drinker, not like when I was young.
It’s when my words run dry, whiskey finds my tongue.
I’m lost inside my mind, in words that won’t come out.
I wash the chaos down, that makes me want to shout.
I don’t need a heavy mixer, a chaser I will pass.
All that I’m in need of, the whiskey and a glass.
I am not a smoker, but one may find my lips.
There is no calmer feeling, than a drag between my sips.
Please don’t try and join me, that stool is not for you.
Sitting right beside me, are things that I’ve been through.
Tonight’s my night to face them, you have to let me be.
This moment’s not for strength, it’s my thoughts I have to free.
The whiskey will warm, while memories burn.
The feeling will soothe, while emotions will turn.
I relive my memories, I won’t let them go black.
It’s ignoring a past, that makes sane people crack.
I remember my struggle, to remind me, I’m strong.
And when this is over, I’ll write about wrong.
I’m not much of a drinker, unless I must think.
And when I am quiet, it’s the whiskey I drink.