The whiskey tumbled into the glass like a waterfall, a beautiful fountain of hope in my hopelessness. This will be my medicine tonight, this will be my religion, this will be my home.
I smelled the bourbon sitting on the edge of the bar and coughed. I didn’t just cough, I snorted and gagged. The fumes of that strong, pure, alcoholic drink did me in.
He picked up his glass of bourbon and took a swig before placing it down on the desk with a thunk. Then he sat down in his chair and rested his head in his hand, his elbow on the desk. A moment later, with a sigh, he lifted his head and reached for the phone.
I’ll always remember the searing taste of bourbon. It was John’s favorite drink. He taught me much about liquors– bourbon, rum, whisky and how to tell them apart. He was much like the amber liquids: distant, bitter, dark.
There is something about bourbon that is different than other spirits — and I think the word “spirit” is aptly used! It has an almost malevolent effect, and I think it’s because it is distilled from corn. Corn is not digestible by humans; it is only digestible by a creature with several stomachs — say, a cow. I think this is why high-fructose corn syrup is so much more addictive than regular sugar or honey. In any case, I haven’t noticed this effect with other liquors — rye, scotch, vodka. Tequila is in a class by itself. It can make you do some really stupid things, but in the spirit of FUN, not with malevolence. Tequila is actually the only liquor that is a central nervous system STIMULANT. All the rest are central nervous system DEPRESSANTS. Yes… I know WAY too much about alcohol. Undoubtedly this is why I don’t drink anymore.
He stared in the bottom of the glass. A tiny bit of that sweet amber elixir settled at the bottom. “This is the stuff that makes and breaks men.” he thought to himself, “Which will it do for me?”
That sweet, smoky amber elixir that fills the glass. Ice cubes tinkling around with it. The stuff that makes and breaks men. What more could one want in life?
It was the glass of bourbon that brought me back to my senses. The love of my life had just walked out of my life, and I was at my wits end. the thought of losing her was just too much to bear.
it’s a fine thing, time.
the moments the seconds the past rewinds
the drinks the ice the melt
the bourbon kisses as we forget
to make us smile to make us feel
the kiss of whisky
the kiss of a girl lost in lace
in nightmares the lost face
the finest fineries
the breathy breast
the fact that more is less
i wish to return to this
even though there’s nothing left.
hard like the crisp air of each winter morning
hard like the empty nights I endlessly face
hard like the cold disappointing stare from the reflection in my mirror
hard like the bourbon that touches my lips as I think about what has become of me
hard like the decision to down the drink, and a number more, to end it once and for all
Not sipping to feel numb anymore, but chugging to die.
the bourbon barrel char was dusted all over my hands arms face and shirt. i shouldve never got in. bourbon has a lot to do with things i should have never done.
just a sip. just one small, nearly non-existent mouthful and he’d be fine again. he just needed a taste. one last exquisite roll of flavor spilling over his tongue. maybe. maybe just one more glass than. not much more than a mouthful really. two or three was all. just enough to coat his stomach. to warm him from the inside out. to remind him of the good times. bourbon had always been his favorite after all. and then he’d do dry. one last drink and he’d be done. really.
His breath smelled of stale cigarette smoke and some kind of cheap alcohol. Bourbon, maybe. It had been years since she had had a drink of the stuff, but the memory still stuck out in her mind. It was an alcohol meant to be sipped slowly and savored from delicate glasses. She wrinkled her nose. She could definitely tell that he had not been as concerned about relishing the drink as he was about getting completely drunk.
that’s amy’s favourite drink. we pass the bottle between each other, as we have done each day for the whole summer. the heat’s unbearable, but amy makes it worth it.
jack sits by the ocean. i think he’s thinking of jenny. i try not to think about jenny.
scratches the back of my throat,
and i refuse another sip.
i was never good with alcohol.
especially the fruity kind.
and vodka always tasted of sharpies
and so on.
i left the bar in search of hot men at the soda fountain instead.
watering holes, they say.
She was a bourbon girl. Right down the feeling of tall grass between her toes and the wind through the wheat fields in summer, she could feel her home on a southern fleck of landscape run through her.
bourbon whiskey, ahahaha. Just like the good ole days when we would steal my papa’s Chevy and head down to the beach. It was just you, me, and bourbon. And we fared pretty well together there, blacking out the rest of the world. Just you and me.
He sat back in his leather chair. The fire was blazing in front of him and keeping him warm in the below freezing temperature. He swirled the ice around in his glass of bourbon and he let thoughts of the past and present move about in his head. He had no regrets and he only hoped for even better days to come. He was satisfied with life.
There is a street in New Orleans called Bourbon Street, that just seems to be in Mardi Gras mode all year around. Everything seems free and possible, gay and bright, full of life. Also, my first strip club experience.
An empty glass… fill it with ice.
Splash of amber… drink it down.
Remembering the good times… cry for the bad ones.
Land of dreams… forget it all and repeat.
“I don’t know what a bourbon is.” The words fall out of my mouth like dropping pebbles in a stream, and the gasps that reverberate around the room are the puddles splashing. One woman faints, and I feel like laughing. They are so far removed from
Bourbon Street was crowded with people packed tightly in, all trying to edge closer to the floats and people parading down the pavement. Shouts of “Throw me something mister!” rang loudly through the street blending together until it was just a roar. Colorful plastic beads and doubloons rained through the air glinting in the bright Mardi Gras sun.
They didn’t allow drinks in the arena, so he kept his bourbon in a Canada Dry Ginger Ale bottle. And like all the other ways he bent the rules, it was an open secret; everybody knew about it, nobody talked about it.
The sun started to pour in the room as I slammed down my glass. I usually didn’t drink hardcore stuff, but last night’s events definitely called for it. I was drunk. Drunk wasn’t even an appropriate word for it, I was hammered. And I felt good. I was able to finally let go of the sting of pain I felt whenever I heard your name.
The bourbon on my tongue stung, and burned as it slipped down my throat. It took me a second, but then it started to warm my insides and I liked the way it felt. I took another swig from the bottle, and slowly understood how alcoholics were born. It was no different than drinking black coffee.
bourbon street is a place in new orleans, I think that i know nothing about…or is it something i can drink, Boy i would love some of that right now. My life and bourbon may be a good pair at the moment. Maybe it will provide some insight, some energy, some motivation to do better…or just sink.
bourbon and coke in my hand. I don’t even drink coke. I only drink it when it’s with bourbon. Burping on my bourbon like a pig. It’s so boring here so it’s the only option of entertainment. Bourbon on.
I don’t really know what bourbon is like. I’ve never tried it. I’m not much of a drinker actually, I mean, I drink, just not a huge range of stuff. Bourbon is one of those types of liquor I’ve always wanted to try but is too expensive for me to ever justify buying a bottle for myself just to try a bit.
He sipped his bourbon. He couldn’t help wondering, as the liquid dripped slowly down his throat, if she was ever coming back. He felt his insides burning and felt unsure as to if it was the drink or the fact that he’d lost her forever.
The whiskey tumbled into the glass like a waterfall, a beautiful fountain of hope in my hopelessness. This will be my medicine tonight, this will be my religion, this will be my home.
Bourbon makes you drunk!!!
I smelled the bourbon sitting on the edge of the bar and coughed. I didn’t just cough, I snorted and gagged. The fumes of that strong, pure, alcoholic drink did me in.
He picked up his glass of bourbon and took a swig before placing it down on the desk with a thunk. Then he sat down in his chair and rested his head in his hand, his elbow on the desk. A moment later, with a sigh, he lifted his head and reached for the phone.
mmm – what can I say here. A nice glass of bourbon in a swanky bar in New York or a bourbon biscuit with a cup of tea at home….
I’ll always remember the searing taste of bourbon. It was John’s favorite drink. He taught me much about liquors– bourbon, rum, whisky and how to tell them apart. He was much like the amber liquids: distant, bitter, dark.
There is something about bourbon that is different than other spirits — and I think the word “spirit” is aptly used! It has an almost malevolent effect, and I think it’s because it is distilled from corn. Corn is not digestible by humans; it is only digestible by a creature with several stomachs — say, a cow. I think this is why high-fructose corn syrup is so much more addictive than regular sugar or honey. In any case, I haven’t noticed this effect with other liquors — rye, scotch, vodka. Tequila is in a class by itself. It can make you do some really stupid things, but in the spirit of FUN, not with malevolence. Tequila is actually the only liquor that is a central nervous system STIMULANT. All the rest are central nervous system DEPRESSANTS. Yes… I know WAY too much about alcohol. Undoubtedly this is why I don’t drink anymore.
He stared in the bottom of the glass. A tiny bit of that sweet amber elixir settled at the bottom. “This is the stuff that makes and breaks men.” he thought to himself, “Which will it do for me?”
That sweet, smoky amber elixir that fills the glass. Ice cubes tinkling around with it. The stuff that makes and breaks men. What more could one want in life?
It was the glass of bourbon that brought me back to my senses. The love of my life had just walked out of my life, and I was at my wits end. the thought of losing her was just too much to bear.
Ah, an old friend indeed. Always been there for me; got me through two divorces, bourbon did.
Yummy
He took a sip of bourbon as he stared out the window of the bar, unable to see anything except the dark shadows of oak trees.
it’s a fine thing, time.
the moments the seconds the past rewinds
the drinks the ice the melt
the bourbon kisses as we forget
to make us smile to make us feel
the kiss of whisky
the kiss of a girl lost in lace
in nightmares the lost face
the finest fineries
the breathy breast
the fact that more is less
i wish to return to this
even though there’s nothing left.
Dunking my chocolate biscuit in my whisky laced coffee I thought “they’ve a lot to answer for those Bourbon kings”.
hard like the crisp air of each winter morning
hard like the empty nights I endlessly face
hard like the cold disappointing stare from the reflection in my mirror
hard like the bourbon that touches my lips as I think about what has become of me
hard like the decision to down the drink, and a number more, to end it once and for all
Not sipping to feel numb anymore, but chugging to die.
the bourbon barrel char was dusted all over my hands arms face and shirt. i shouldve never got in. bourbon has a lot to do with things i should have never done.
just a sip. just one small, nearly non-existent mouthful and he’d be fine again. he just needed a taste. one last exquisite roll of flavor spilling over his tongue. maybe. maybe just one more glass than. not much more than a mouthful really. two or three was all. just enough to coat his stomach. to warm him from the inside out. to remind him of the good times. bourbon had always been his favorite after all. and then he’d do dry. one last drink and he’d be done. really.
His breath smelled of stale cigarette smoke and some kind of cheap alcohol. Bourbon, maybe. It had been years since she had had a drink of the stuff, but the memory still stuck out in her mind. It was an alcohol meant to be sipped slowly and savored from delicate glasses. She wrinkled her nose. She could definitely tell that he had not been as concerned about relishing the drink as he was about getting completely drunk.
that’s amy’s favourite drink. we pass the bottle between each other, as we have done each day for the whole summer. the heat’s unbearable, but amy makes it worth it.
jack sits by the ocean. i think he’s thinking of jenny. i try not to think about jenny.
scratches the back of my throat,
and i refuse another sip.
i was never good with alcohol.
especially the fruity kind.
and vodka always tasted of sharpies
and so on.
i left the bar in search of hot men at the soda fountain instead.
watering holes, they say.
She was a bourbon girl. Right down the feeling of tall grass between her toes and the wind through the wheat fields in summer, she could feel her home on a southern fleck of landscape run through her.
bourbon whiskey, ahahaha. Just like the good ole days when we would steal my papa’s Chevy and head down to the beach. It was just you, me, and bourbon. And we fared pretty well together there, blacking out the rest of the world. Just you and me.
you seared my throat
as whiskey
as i lost my senses
floating in your haze.
then you entrenched
your thorns into me
as i leaned in
captured by your scent & gaze.
rose, whiskey
what did it matter when
i was simply a way to pass the days.
if only it hadn’t mattered to me
He sat back in his leather chair. The fire was blazing in front of him and keeping him warm in the below freezing temperature. He swirled the ice around in his glass of bourbon and he let thoughts of the past and present move about in his head. He had no regrets and he only hoped for even better days to come. He was satisfied with life.
There is a street in New Orleans called Bourbon Street, that just seems to be in Mardi Gras mode all year around. Everything seems free and possible, gay and bright, full of life. Also, my first strip club experience.
An empty glass… fill it with ice.
Splash of amber… drink it down.
Remembering the good times… cry for the bad ones.
Land of dreams… forget it all and repeat.
medicine
necessary
mixer
“I don’t know what a bourbon is.” The words fall out of my mouth like dropping pebbles in a stream, and the gasps that reverberate around the room are the puddles splashing. One woman faints, and I feel like laughing. They are so far removed from
Bourbon Street was crowded with people packed tightly in, all trying to edge closer to the floats and people parading down the pavement. Shouts of “Throw me something mister!” rang loudly through the street blending together until it was just a roar. Colorful plastic beads and doubloons rained through the air glinting in the bright Mardi Gras sun.
They didn’t allow drinks in the arena, so he kept his bourbon in a Canada Dry Ginger Ale bottle. And like all the other ways he bent the rules, it was an open secret; everybody knew about it, nobody talked about it.
The sun started to pour in the room as I slammed down my glass. I usually didn’t drink hardcore stuff, but last night’s events definitely called for it. I was drunk. Drunk wasn’t even an appropriate word for it, I was hammered. And I felt good. I was able to finally let go of the sting of pain I felt whenever I heard your name.
Bourbon. Some call it whiskey. Others prefer it over beer. Even though it causes them all sorts of problems, they still binge on it like it was water.
The bourbon on my tongue stung, and burned as it slipped down my throat. It took me a second, but then it started to warm my insides and I liked the way it felt. I took another swig from the bottle, and slowly understood how alcoholics were born. It was no different than drinking black coffee.
bourbon street is a place in new orleans, I think that i know nothing about…or is it something i can drink, Boy i would love some of that right now. My life and bourbon may be a good pair at the moment. Maybe it will provide some insight, some energy, some motivation to do better…or just sink.
Bourbon whiskey! Pass me some more! Said one customer. H e is becoming too loud whereas he is drinking more and more.
Bourbon is a royal French family defined by the dictionary.It is also a whiskey, alcohol made in some country.
bourbon and coke in my hand. I don’t even drink coke. I only drink it when it’s with bourbon. Burping on my bourbon like a pig. It’s so boring here so it’s the only option of entertainment. Bourbon on.
I don’t really know what bourbon is like. I’ve never tried it. I’m not much of a drinker actually, I mean, I drink, just not a huge range of stuff. Bourbon is one of those types of liquor I’ve always wanted to try but is too expensive for me to ever justify buying a bottle for myself just to try a bit.
Ah sip after sip. Drip after drip. I find myself turning into someone else. Floating above the world, not caring if I fall.
He sipped his bourbon. He couldn’t help wondering, as the liquid dripped slowly down his throat, if she was ever coming back. He felt his insides burning and felt unsure as to if it was the drink or the fact that he’d lost her forever.