WHISKEY WINS #poetry by jay

The age of bourbon burns less
or more into my throat as the 
time allotted myself to even 
the score wasted in resentment
or protracted into the procurement
of forgetting

lost time from feeling caged in
by the expectations.

I lick my lips and suck down 
the amber lust and spice of
the brown-sugared-warming 
juices and the choices to live 
in freedom failing— 

past mistakes burning my core 
in daily fires that ignite.

The settling of sediment in my glass
half full and emptied once more
seen as a win from time spent 
imprisoned in desires left to others
to determine my fate and mull

over the winnings of who got more
or less of me and lost the game.

I float with no arms to battle
or feet to run but soothe the flames
in aged whiskey instead, I

spoke to whispers from love in
bourbon bliss and whiskful wins 
in hope to rest inside a freedom
that has no end.

©Jay Mora-Shihadeh

Photo by Taylor Brandon on Unsplash