I see the demons swimming at the bottom of my glass;
Jesting and jeering me as I swallow the rest.
And I feel them tumble down my exposed throat,
Kicking and screaming in their descent
Until they land in the flaming pit of my stomach.
Feeling them inside me, running amuck.
Like a growing fetus in the womb, they feed upon my hatred.
Suckling on the tits of my own humiliation.
They are the weeds that push through my subconscious mind,
Planting the seeds of doubt into every unborn dream of mine.
And the sad reality is that I come crawling back for more abuse;
Drinking another bottle as I have come to know as the bitter truth.