The Last Bottle
Every night I rush home to
you—
waiting patiently on the kitchen counter.
You see the side of me
I never offered the world,
and still, you never judge.
You never ask me to overexert myself.
You were my comforter,
a quick kick of dopamine,
loosening my body,
quieting my nerves,
teaching my breath how to slow.
I’ve heard you’ve destroyed many—
destinies unraveled,
homes broken into,
joy stolen from hearts.
You’ve ruined relationships,
slipped out the door
without ever looking back.
Many suffer from the pain you inflict.
But with me,
you danced with my sorrow,
numbed the ache,
let me forget my wounds—
if only for the moment.
When morning rises,
I taste you on my breath.
As the memory of last night fades,
my senses return.
I forget how deeply
I buried my soul in you,
not knowing
you were a poisoned chalice,
slowly eating me away—
like termites hollowing wood
from the inside.
So today, I choose to walk away.
From your grip.
From the invisible cords.
From the guilt disguised as pleasure.
Because I refuse to die
a lonely man.
So let this be
my last bottle.