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Bringing the bottle to my lips I recall many fantasies
drinking them down with the night
releasing them to surge through my blood
and I enter a world where fantasies have no weight
only the crumbled and fragmented urge of distilled hopes
fermented like the whiskey, bled like the disease of falsity
I know it is time to be real 
but this is not to say I can't be hopeful
rather it is this time to diminish the voices which hold me back
and open my mind to the whispers which instruct me to embark
I bring the bottle to my lips again
breeching the moment while I come to an understanding
this is not the way to go about it
but at least it gives me pause to think
a moment of reprieve and the will to accept
tomorrow is yet to come
and tomorrow, regardless of all else
is always a new today
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