First Taste, Last Balance

A bottle cracked open,

cheap whiskey stung my throat,

fire racing down like reckless blood.

The room swayed,

every edge blurred,

a carousel spun out of control.

Laughter spilled too loud,

words tripped over each other,

I grasped at balance, missed,

and tipped into dizziness.

That first fall from sober,

a shuddering step over the edge,

where control loosens its grip,

and the world tilts sideways,

nothing quite the same.