I used to think it was a genie bottle,

whose contents lifted my head into a dreamy world of clouds,

buzz is a good word for the tingling lack of sensation,

my head falls back on its own,

it flutters,

like my head was in love,

this would have been my first wish.

I could not remember to make the other two.

This was the deceptive ecstasy of ambrosia,

and we did not know words yet like dry heaves, rotgut, and brown bottle flu,

black-outs were entertaining,

not accountable for anything forgotten,

forgetting my second wish was not to feel shame.

I then did not know the devil's trickery,

that demons look like genies and can make you feel good,

but possession is the whole of the law,

and the bad will always follow

once they have you,

when there are no excuses, just a disease.

Black-outs mean that you are alone,

and loneliness means that you are the drink,

and drinking means the demons have you,

yet you are compelled to possess their possession,

because you still remember the genie.