She wakes up every morning with a frown on her face as he stumbles from his bed and into a chair that he will never get out of, there is tension in the air as she downs another exclaiming, "bottoms up" when it makes her glass world shatter at the rise of a cup
All he can do is watch the pieces as they become pronounced while the shift of retreating cats induces a pitter-patter and more pictures fade out; the happy memories now stained from her cigarette smoke to ensure they'll die together, yet somehow alone
He is cursed with a disease that has rendered him pitiful but alcohol doesn't care, she drinks another swig, becoming more cyclical and deems the mans hindrance as sinful
Stuttering, he can't escape a liquid she's drowned him with by pouring it into her own veins- maybe it's better this way, to watch the walls as they cave in
What else can he do as he slowly degrades from Parkinson's?