The Stuff that Kills in a Dead Man’s Bar

Open that potent gin,
that is laying there,
cradled in the arms of the dead man,
and his kin;
Take in, a brisk sip,
hiccup and stumble;
Try on this stuff,
that killed them;
Wipe it off your face,
memories you can’t erase,
and before you get too drunk,
fall a little…for their empty grins;
Caught in the limbo,
far away from the living,
and the un-feeling,
stay there until morning;
Let the spell wear off, a little;
then like a zombie, come back for more, again.

© soulreserve 2015

(For the poetryriot​ Prompt ‘his/her empty grin’)

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