My Friend Whiskey

The brown sweet liquid
Comforts me
When the days
Wear long
And patience
Wears thin
Holding the answers
To all my questions
Somewhere
If not at the bottom
Of this one
Then at the bottom
Of the next
There is no one
Who knows me
There is no one
Who comforts me
There is no one
Who knows exactly
What to say
When the chips are down
And I’m out
On my luck
That the friends
Locked away
In the cabinet
High above
The oven

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