Fuck, I've gone and done it again,
Gone and poured me a drink I hate for certain,
A tall glass of whiskey, 3 cubes of ice,
Why does this taste like a woman's spite?
The amber liquid, a bitter reminder
Of the love that once burned like fire,
Now a charred memory, a scar left behind,
I take another sip, hoping to leave it all behind.
The whiskey stings like her sharp tongue,
Each sip a sting, a pain that lingers on,
A reminder of the warmth that once was there,
Now replaced by a cold, empty stare.
The clink of ice breaks my reverie,
I raise my head up to see multiple glares,
Oh I forgot to mention I was sitted across from my accusers,
"You hurt her first" they said, "You ruined it" they said,
Like it was okay for her to wrench my heart out,
Stomp on it's bits and scream like the victim,
How do I tell them that I gave it my all?
That I held on for dear life as she chipped away at me,
That her venom scorched me in the day,
Her body healed me at night,
That I was lost in her web of lust, and my mind suffered,
That they're pointing fingers at the victim,
While the villain cackles in her dimly lit room.
"Don't you see?" I plead, my voice hoarse,
"I was the moth, she was the flame,
Her touch, my downfall, my endless shame,
Yet you sit here, judging me for my pain."
They shake their heads, their eyes cold and hard,
"You made your choice, you played the card,
You're not the victim, don't you see?
You're just a broken man, drowning in misery."
I stare at the empty glass, my head bowed low,
Wishing the whiskey could numb the pain, make it go,
But the truth lingers, a bitter aftertaste,
I'm lost in this game, my heart a broken vase,
Merely resembling this Broken Whiskey Glass.



© The boy who raged, 1683.

This is inspired by the recent ordeal of an acquaintance, I immersed myself in the hurt he spoke about and birthed this... Arigatou for engaging...