They Know.
They know I've been sipping from his flask,
His endless supply of liquid comfort.
I can see you when I drink, though.
Is that why he carries the flask?
To see her?
Maybe, I should start carrying one.
They'd understand.
They don't understand.
Instead they sit beside me.
But I can't be angry at them.
They know why I'm here.
They know
Why I'm stuck here
At the bottom of a bottle.
But it's not fair.
Why can't I reach you, even at the bottom of a bottle?
