Holes in the Bottle

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I remember,
the bitter taste,
as it poured down my throat.
Like a sour morning mouth,
I reeked of my sickness,
from gulps of a mixture
of depression and rage.
I drank it all to the bottom,
or so I thought.
In the morning,
my life had been on rewind
once more.
I looked down 
at the gleaming, empty bottle,
only to find holes along the bottom.

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