The whiskey is talking.
Tis’ no more than the usual nightly rant.
You say that you love me,
I say that you can’t.
I say make your choice: that bottle or me.
But if you loved me, truly loved me, you would not have to choose.
You’d toss out the bottle and I’d be yours.
What is there for you to lose?
It is not that easy.
There is more than that, you say.
I can’t expect you just to give up and quit such a habit.
You will rue this day.
I pack my bags; take my coffee cup and my cat.
You want me to stay.
You say that you want me. You need me. You love me.
My love for you is too strong. I cannot stay here and watch you drink your life away.
Goodbye my love.
I wish you the best.
I climb into my car. I watch you. I wait for you.
But you turn around. You failed the test.
You don’t love me. You never have.
The whiskey holds your heart in its deathly black fingers.
I’ve been washed away in a tide of amber.
My memory will not even linger.