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?