From the bottle to my hand to me.

Rocking, swaying.

Like music is playing.

Funny how my brain will work to form a rhyme,
But I can't look at a clock and be able to tell the time.

Shaking, shaking, shaking.
My hands are really shaking.

Problems, problems, something we all dread.
But not everyone's goes away with the tilt of the head.

Flesh and skin and bone are aware
Of every little thing that passes by us in the air.

Flash and then flicker and then a goodbye.
These thoughts and these memories race around in my mind.

My speech grows rapid and begins to slur,
While all my surroundings are an impenetrable blur.