My life stands – an empty bottle –
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,
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.