with every intention of drowning my sorrows
in the bottom of a tall, long-necked bottle.

I grabbed a goblet, filled it to the brim
and raised it to my mouth to savor that first sweet sip.

Heat lightning silently lit up the dark sky.
Cicadas loudly hummed their encouragement,
their sound easily penetrating the closed windows.

I closed my eyes and waited for relief, release,
or perhaps even forgiveness from a higher source.

But like a bottle-rocket on a soggy Fourth-of-July,
my infallible plan simply fizzled
as I savored the last taste at the bottom of my glass.

Refusing defeat,
I put the bottle to my lips
And raised it high for an enormous gulp of numbness.

Liquid heat burned a path down my throat
And spread throughout my body.
My gut wrenched in pain
My lungs sucked in warm humid air
and released it in a whoosh
only to inhale another moist breath.

Then another.

Tears rolled down my cheeks
as the lightning outside gave way to fat drops of rain.

The Sorrows, smug and giggling,
climbed out of the bottle
and with a gleeful shake,
leaped atop my shoulders once more.

I quivered in defeat.
as the sorrows roared in victory.

Oh it brought them such joy and such delight
For my Sorrows had won.

They had beaten the bottle that night.