He steps back,
His heel knocking the bottle,
It wobbles,
And tumbles over.
He does not turn around,
He does not notice.
So it lays there.
Spilling it's contents,
Until it is empty,
No one picks it up,
Sets it right again,
It is empty.
No one will drink from it again,
Because it is contaminated,
Touches the ground,
Left behind.

But I say love those who have felt
Crushing pain,
Agonizing desire,
And utter defeat.
Pick up the fallen,
Because they have lived the most,
They will know how to love,
They will know how to thrive.
After all,
Survival of the fittest,
Is it not?