THE BOTTLE.

I was on a lonely road going straight to hell,saying to no one in particular my last farewells. I drank bottles of liquour to chase my blues away knowing that tomorrow wil be just another day. How many bottle i drank,i couldnt tell bt my years of drinking had cast a spell. There was no one to worry,there was no one to cry. No one cared if i lived,no one cared if i died. The life i was living i knew to be wrong,bt the bottle held me firmly in its throng. Hell was the place where i wud dwell,for the lure of the bottle,i cud not repel. Then one day a stranger appeared and beckoned me to join him in prayer. He reached out to me and on the road we knelt. I clasped his hand and the imprints of nails i felt. My burdens began to lift,my heart began to sing. I felt as if i was floating,that i had wings. The stranger and I,we continued to pray and the thirst for the bottle began to fade.