Poem – Jagermeister Memories

Some empty Jägermeister bottles sit 

atop my fridge, their labels autographed 

and dated cursively in purple pen. 

She always signed her liquor bottles when 

she finished them, a habit I admit 

was slightly strange at first; I even laughed 
a bit until I heard her reason why: 

they’d last as glass mementos of our wild 

and drunken moments. Now, each label serves 

as glass-sharp slices straight across my nerves, 

reminders of the girl I told goodbye 

when trust and loyalty were both defiled. 
I know I need to throw them all away, 

remove the souvenirs that cause such stress, 

but just can’t bring myself to take them down; 

no, instead I’d rather sit and drown 

in misery, pretend she didn’t play 

a game with me the way she did the rest. 
The truth, at times, is such a sour drink, 

a tough to swallow dose of agony: 

my feelings, like the booze that once had filled 

those empty bottles staring down, were killed 

with each deceitful deed she did. To think 

she ever would’ve gave her heart to me 
was merely pure imprudence on my part. 

Yet even though I’ve realized she’s not 

The One for me, I simply wouldn’t mind 

another night with her and label signed: 

she’s liquor to my alcoholic heart – 

I can’t but help but crave another shot.