A sad sight, a hard feeling. Seeing the bottom of the glass.
The end of the night…or is it?
An empty glass, a last sip, the bottom of a heavy pour.
But I’m still coherent. Still awake, still receptive, still aware.
And that means that the bottom of the glass came too soon.
See, we’re not ready for the night to end. Not quite fucked up enough, not quite numb enough…not enough regrets.
I’m struggling with these demons.
One more sip and I’ll forget about tonight. I’ll wake up tomorrow with amnesia. Perhaps a forgiving punishment.
The last sip just seems to be…nonexistent.
An empty glass is just an opportunity to fill it right back up.
And if that isn’t the most fucking addict mentality you’ve ever heard…..?
I’ll regret this last drink, as I always seem to do.
I hate myself for this choice.
A choice I can’t seem to stop myself for making.
I can’t stand an empty glass.
I’m an addict through and through. My late night self will admit this freely. But it’s my sober self that will deny it tooth and nail.
Why the stark difference, I’ll never understand.
But for tonight, I can’t accept an empty glass.
I will regret this choice. Making another drink is a guarantee to forget this night, to make a bad choice…it’s a guarantee of regret.
But even knowing that, I make it anyway.
I’m making a bad choice. But at least my glass isn’t empty.
My soul is empty, my energy is depleted…my heart feels empty.
But at least my glass is not.
That’s fucked up, and I wish it were opposite.
But if I can prevent any one of those things from being empty…I guess that’s all I can do.
I wish I were better. I wish my heart were fuller, my soul was healed, and my brain was more rested. But it’s not.
So, my glass cannot be empty.
Even though it hurts, even thought I regret it already.
Maybe a full glass means I don’t kill myself. Maybe it’s just the one thing that helps.
Except that it hurts…so fucking much.