The Bottle's Embrace

In the quiet hours of night,
When the world has lost its light,
He reaches for the bitter glass,
His only friend, his constant past.

The bottle whispers soft and low,
Promises of peace it bestows,
But in its depths, no solace found,
Only echoes, sorrow-bound.

His hands tremble, cold with fear,
A life once bright, now drowned in beer.
Memories blur, a fading trace,
In the mirror, he sees a stranger's face.

Lonely nights, they stretch too long,
The days, a haze where he doesn't belong.
Each sip, a tear he can't replace,
Each drop, a mask he can't erase.

He chases shadows down the hall,
But finds no refuge in their call.
The world outside, it moves so fast,
While he is trapped within the glass.

He stumbles through a fog of pain,
Searching for escape in vain.
Yet every step, it leads him back,
To the bottle's grip, a cold attack.

Oh, how he longs for days of old,
When love was warm, and life was gold.
But now he drowns in silent cries,
A broken soul, with empty eyes.

If only he could break the chain,
And find the strength to heal the pain.
But the bottle’s voice, it calls so sweet,
As he surrenders to defeat.

In the end, he fades away,
A ghost in the shadows, led astray.
His heart, it beats a weary tune,