To the Bottle

The pain of loss,
of being wrong,
that moment I want
to take back.
Forgiveness isn’t coming soon,
or so it seems,
and so I run
to the bottle,
yet again.
 
Staring up at Heaven
from the bottom of a glass,
questioning my choices,
even as I make them,
questioning my fate,
even as I make it,
I see only the clouds I’ve cast,
the rain I’ve made,
and the world
I’ve forsaken.
 
All I hope for
is to forget
and numb the pain
praying that I find
the peace of sleep –
of oblivion –
and that on the other side
the storm has passed
and you’ll be there,
still waiting for me,
always waiting for me.
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