You're angry again.
You came home again,
The smell of whiskey and frustration
On your breath,
Ready to remind me
Of everything I do wrong.
You start with the yelling.
But the yelling I can take.
It's when you start to throw things--
The lamp, the plates, the chairs--
That my heart begins to ache.
I never fear you hurting me--
Nothing you've ever thrown has striked.
But it's the way you throw things
Without a care
Of which items you toss and break,
But never once
Do you let go
Of the bottle in your hand.
Objects fly across the room,
But you never loosen your grip
On the neck of your bottle.
You hold it and never let it go,
The same way you promised
You would do to me
When I was still young and beautiful.
You promised.
You said you'd hold me
And never let me go.
I envy your bottle,
And long to once again
Be the one between your fingers.
But you will never love me as much
As you love that glass and whiskey.