Sadness sits like an empty bottle. A falling bottle that tumbles away from my failing hand. Bottles fall like dominoes before my want. A want greater than any need. Even as my hand fails to succeed, still there is the need. Still there is the want.
I have drowned your memory in endless alcohol. Piling memories on top of your memory, I stack a barrier between myself and the past. Even as I drink from waiting glass, I feel you again at last. A feeling that is never felt. A feeling that is always there.
How many bottles make a couple? Shattering the feeling of loneliness by accepting a lonely feeling. I accept myself, I accept myself. I line the shots up in a row to match my desire. A desire to know my beginning and my ending. Starting with the first until I reach the end. I feel the last bottle is near.