Whisky’s Burn

There is a fire I know,

one that does not burn within me,

but slips down slowly,

like a river made of heat.

It is that bitter taste,

that scorches and soothes me,

a burning born outside myself,

yet one that quiets my pain.

It is not the flame of my soul,

nor a shadow feeding on me,

but embers in my chest,

a solace I have learned to accept.

I welcome this torment,

because it is mine to choose:

to sip the gentle flame,

or let it fade away.