Saw those green cans in your room today
hidden under piles of taxed papers.
A cheap empty metal that tore open healed wounds,
a putrid scent that infected my resolve.
Was I the true Alcoholic? Drunk on the delusion of healing
Or maybe you had never healed to begin with.
Maybe your desperation was just well-hidden
under the smile that blanketed your face
and a laugh that made me feel safe.