Bottom of the bottle

I think of what you must be doing right now. You, who opened up the bottle. You, who crawled in with me. You, who poured us out over and over. You who drank me. You who lit my cigarette. You who laid your body next to me when I was spent. You who shook, like a man afraid.

You, who said I had to remain a secret. You, who took one look at me and wanted to fall at my feet. You worshipped me. You praised me. You made me your God and you raised me up.

And then in those words you made me dirty.

You made me a secret, and you locked me away.

You held me in your hands and promised me that no one would ever love me like you, touch me like you, want me like you and then you took it all away.

I think of where you must be, with your wife and children. I think of how you imagine my hands on your skin. I think of what your cries are like, agony when you have to finish for her sake, so she never knows.

But you close your eyes and imagine instead of being inside her, that I’m inside you.

That’s what does it for you, and when you finish, you don’t want to hold her. You want to be held by me. You always came back to me. You never lied about that.

Even if you lied about everything else — how you loved me. How I was the only one.

But you always came back.

You’ll come back tonight, like you always do. I’ve got a bottle for us, gold and bitter, just how you like it.

This time, I’ll be ready. I opened it already. Got it started for us.

This time, you won’t leave me.

This time, you won’t leave at all.

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0 Responses to Bottom of the bottle

  1. Trent Lewin says:

    Think it always stays with me when something is so real that I can’t tell if it’s from a personal experience or it’s made up. I can’t tell with this one. I can’t tell if it’s you or someone else.

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