Whiskey

He looks at the bottom of his glass: searching
For answers that only he can find
He sees two drops of brown liquor
Whispering everything he wants to hear

Keeping the company of those he
Holds most dear:
Jack Daniels, Jameson, Jim Beam
Teasing beautiful ‘sweet nothings’ into his ear

Thinking of her body, dreaming of
Her spirit, longing for her touch
But only grasping the curvature
Of his whiskey cup

The epiphany he receives
From those immense tear-swollen eyes
Leaves an imprint on his mind
It’s too familiar

He is not ready to stop the pain
He feels more alive
In beautiful moments like these
And assumes her love for fighting
Is just as sick as his

It’s when the plates are flying, and the
Lamps are shattering, and the
Hands are hitting when he
Yearns for the rest of life to be this electrifying

Shocking, like smashing his fishing rods
Entertaining, like crushing her handmade candles
Redundant, like the entrance of this pub
Knowing that she cares
Enough to throw a fork at his face
Is nothing less than intoxicating

Now once again, spinning on a trusty stool
Surrounded by enlightening
Company: those who never let him down
He orders another round
Knowing that he can never fix what’s broken
Whether it’s in his heart
Or in his house