An Empty Bottle

My life stands – an empty bottle –

Standing upright

And shining amongst

The clutter of the dark, wooden table.


Beads of condensation crawl

On My still sweaty glass

But slightly warmed

From the palms that cling so tightly around Me.


I had once stood – full –

Earlier on this calm, shadowy night

Before he had occupied his hollow shell

With swallow after swallow of meaningless bliss.


But he came to Me,

Looking at Me with his wild yet miserable eyes

Viewing Me as the holiest water

He could ever ingest.


He is warmed and consumed

Comforted and calmed,

Becoming indifferent,

Almost non-existent.


He continued to disappear

As he hid in the cover of My shadows

Because he knew his little girl

Would cry if she saw him.


If she saw how much I was needed,

Wanted, and depended on.

She would then eventually realize

The memory of ‘daddy’s little girl’ was erased from his mind.


I made the voices he constantly complained about disappear.

I made him jovial when his little girl turned eight.

And I also caused the swelling of his little girl’s eye.

But I helped him to rid himself of that memory its entirety.


Because of Me, none of this ever seemed to happen to him.


As morning comes around

I find yet another of My Brothers on His side.

He is still cool to the touch

And contains the remnants of My now subdued man.



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