Ode to the girl sitting in a bar writing poetry and drinking bourbon (last night that was me)

Given the choice of whiskey or wine
I'd rather have wine (perhaps most of the time)
But the nights come along
(Oh, life is a song - isn't yours?)
When nothing but whiskey suffices.
On the rocks, if you please, with some ices.
Or from the flask of a boy
Whose blue eyes are a joy
And whose smile's as nice as pure nice is.
Oh, Jameson, please, with some ices.
And let's drink - just a drop - beyond where we should stop -
So our hearts will feel less odd in slices.
And we'll gamble those hearts like they're dices.
And we'll pack up our lives in those ices.
On a whiskey-type-night it feels almost right
To label our loves like cheap prices
(that one wasn't worth half the time that he took
            and she didn't live up to her nice looks)
As if hearts can be measured in scales.
And our lives are already-told tales.
Please cease the aged airs, like you've journeyed so far
This too is a stage, and you'll forget this bar,
And your dreams are not dead until you are.
So I'll pour one from the flask - I promise, my last -
In the back of my mind, as I drink it with ices,
I believe that I'll find (how that whiskey entices!)
           Inspiration
at the bottom
      of a
glass.

(And when I do, it's the nicest.)

-LC