I poured myself into an empty glass.
I poured and I poured,
the wine aged well,
the water was clear,
the liquor hit the spot,
but still I poured and I poured.
The whine aged well.
My tears were clear.
My drunk heart
throwing up
on your carpet.
I poured my moon into you,
this emptiness,
this vast hollowness,
a field of dead flowers,
this broken meadow,
these glass shards
stuck to my ankles,
this razor blades
dripping into the snow,
a bloody angel
made by your body.
I drank myself sober
and kissed the unloved.
I was so filled with emptiness
that when someone made me feel full,
I shrugged them off,
I pushed them away.
And I’ll always regret it until this day.
And sometimes we get lost in people.
Sometimes in thoughts.
And sometimes we get lost in mazes.
Sometimes in palm lines.
And sometimes we get lost in puzzles.
Sometimes in a smile.
And sometimes we get lost in our ways.
Sometimes in theirs.
I’m sorry about being this empty, but–