Dust meets the glass of the whiskey bottle,,
my soul yearns for the taste of its sweet escape,
but my body protects me from its contents,
for I can\'t stomach the bitterness like I used to,
even though I\'ve never wanted to die more than I do now.
I can\'t bring myself to pour a glass,
even though I\'d love to make my memories hazy,
faces and names and voices I\'ll never forget,
even though I\'ve long since been forgotten.
I fear the monster I\'d become if I finally gave in,
my only source of sustenance if I didn\'t know better,
drowning in a pool of my blood at the end of it,
but it\'s a good thing I\'m smarter than that,
or that\'s what people think when I tell them I\'m sober.
I think of all the money I could\'ve saved if I was okay with losing you,
but I lost myself trying to keep a hold of you,
I could\'ve saved the money I spent on the whiskey,
but the bottle keeps me company in my lonesome now,
and I found myself when I finally accepted a life without you.