Another glass her pours;
10 AM, 3 glasses deep.
Why? I wonder. Is it me?
He swallows,
And I see his eyes light up
As the fiery liquid burns his throat.
To escape,
I answer my own question,
To escape.
I have my own methods,
But this one so foreign to me.
And I want to understand, I do.
But how can I understand how he’s slowly killing himself
And yet no one hears the cry for help.
No one but me.
Him, him, him, is all I think.
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey, is all he drinks.