a crutch

When did the drink become a crutch,
Rather than a good time?
When…where… did I learn to rely so heavily on it?
Or rather, who?
I can’t remember the day it became obvious,
Or maybe, the switch was slow,
Like the second hand of the clock,
Moving just enough to not notice until it was too late,
Did you teach me the right way?
The proper way to turn to the glass over everything
My reliant; my sanctuary and my graveyard…
Living life to the very edge until I fall over,
Never know which drunken stupor would embrace me at the bottom.

pieces of the shattered glass you threw,

I’m left picking up pieces of the shattered glass you threw,
Bottles that you drank from too long, too much,And the poison had been in your system,
Blocking what sobriety had to offer.

This darkness I’ve known my whole life,
Become accustom to it,
Partaking in it myself,
But my demons are my own,
And I can only blame you for your actions, not the way they affecting me.

This fear I’ve let linger in the back of my mind,
Comes to life in each sip of the glass,
And my lips savor the excuse of not dealing with it.
But you, I can never know if your reasons are like my own,
Throwing, and clinging to the bottle,
Hiding behind the affects of ignorance,
I can’t ignore the problem like you do,
And that gives me the strength to fight my demons

Yet I fear your succumb to yours already,
And there is nothing I can do to pull you from your self-made abyss
Throwing glass, I’m left to pick up the pieces,
never knowing your cry for help only echoed my own…