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Empty Glasses

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  • Empty Glasses

    Sweat dripping down the exterior of this crystal vessel.
    Its contents tantalize you with its promise of comfort; its promise to absorb your misery.

    One sip.
    Now you recall every mistake.
    Every ache starts to make way to sagacity,
    but your mind has reached its maximum capacity for the reminiscence of emotional tragedy.

    Two sips.
    You've become analytically inclined.
    Each detail becomes critical.
    Now you see the contents of this crystal vessel as a physical being;
    one that comprehends your situation.
    It mends your gaiety with its indescribable sensation
    while luring you into its grasp with the beauty of its condensation.

    Three sips.
    It's all your fault.
    Your guilt is exalted.
    Your sanity is brutally assaulted by your grief.

    Four sips.
    Now, this crystal vessel is hollow.
    No longer is there anyone to wallow in your despair with you.
    Nobody is there with you.
    The one presence that fathomed your depression is gone;
    leaving nothing but its crystal vessel in succession.

    You're alone.
    No one will hear your cry.
    So, you fill this vessel up to its lips
    and listen as it whispers to your conscience
    with the initiation of that fifth sip.
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