Laura Loughridge
USA

His Demise

His demise is
In his drink.
The familiar taste
Lingers on his tongue,
Taunting him
Like a willing whore.
Again and again,
The glass is raised,
Tightening the noose.
A slow suicide
Is certain –
A willing death.
 
The haze surrounds him,
Numbing the pain
And memories.
Loved ones have left him
To drown his sorrows.
They mourn the man
They once knew
Who will never 
Be again.
His demise
Is in his drink.
And his drink
Is all he has.