“A whiskey sour please”
Said the drunken dope as someone takes his keys
He then proceeds to fall back on his chair
Spilling his 10 dollar drink

His mishaven face
And poor posture
A typical patient for this kinda place

His turn of a neck
Destined to the door

As a angelic aberration
Enters this hospital
A glowing pill
A possible exit

The pills’s hair flows past her shoulders
Her brightness lightens the room
When the patient's stare only at the drug
It leaves in fear.

The dark resets
As Well as the despair.
Reality sets in for our lowly drinker
That his only medication is his whiskey sour.