The Bottle

The Bottle

Another midnight snack, held within a bottle
Awaiting his silent mistress, to come and open him.
To pop open the ancient cork, that he got so long ago
And sip his gentle nectar, and ease all of her worries.

With anger in her heart, and the bottle on her mind
She drinks away her sorrow; she drinks away her pain
And as she pours her pity into glass number two
She thinks about the times in which they were meant to be.

The days in which cuddled, the silent I love yous.
But most of all times in which the would laugh and play
The memories are taken from her and she reaches number three
But little does she care; she cares about her bottle.

A picture over the label, with their picture on the front
Speaking of the day, in which they said, "I do"
But those days have passed, and she's been served with papers
She grabs onto the bottle, and pours glass number four.

Soon her glass is empty, and it smashes to the floor
Leaving her in memories flooding her with pain
The thoughts all go empty, as she falls onto the table
Another night of memories; another night of tears.