O empty vessel, cold and glass, you hold the phantom solace he craves,
A bitter nectar, a fleeting pass, that drowns the yearning love he saves.
He drinks, and in your depths he sees,
A mirror warped, reflecting pain,
A hollow shell, a chilling breeze,
That whispers he's alone again.
My heart, a fragile, bleeding dove,
Beats against the cage of his despair,
He seeks the solace of your love,
A love that I can never share.
My hands, they reach out, yearning, frail,
To pull him from your chilling hold,
But he retreats, his eyes turn pale,
A story of a love untold.
His anger flares, a fiery storm,
Unleashed upon my gentle soul,
Each bitter word, a piercing thorn,
That leaves me shattered and unwhole.
His promises, like smoke that fades,
Dissolve into the empty air,
He's lost in your seductive shades,
A love he cannot choose to bear.
I weep, my tears a silent plea,
A desperate plea for him to see,
The depths of his own misery,
The chains that bind him, only he.
But still he drinks, his face aglow,
With the false hope that you impart,
The poison of your love, he'll know,
A love that tears his world apart.
O empty bottle, dark and deep,
Filled with the anguish of his soul,
He drinks, and in your depths he'll sleep,
A love he'll never truly hold.
And I, I'll stand here, broken, torn,
A love he cannot seem to see,
Aching for a love reborn,
A love he'll never give to me.

© matthewwwebster