You break the bottle without a drop of alcohol staining the carpet
Laughs, giggles, smirks, dumb sentence follows your lips
Blood flow increases, my eyes narrow, clinched, ready
An act of a lifetime starts, swooping down to steal my anger
And like always I look the other way
And the next morning when I wake up alone
I ask myself
What’s worse, the fact she breaks wine bottles without a drop,
Or the fact that she’s so far gone?
Either way my carpet isn’t getting destroyed, but I am
Whether I know it or not, slowly, each drop, each sip…
Nice writing man. Your English puts most English people to shame for what it’s worth
A beautiful poem of reality o alcohol dependence. It is not the carpet , it is me who is being destroyed….Awesome post.
thank you 🙂