Fragmentary Bottles

Fragmentary Bottles

A Story by Comatose

7:12 am.
Far too early for the shot glass full of
whiskey I just drained,
And far too late to fix anything
That I faithlessly destroyed.
I pour another shot of my vice
Perhaps this one will be kind enough to dull down
the overwhelming cacophony in my head.
The previous ones haven't.
My eyes drift from my glass
to the half empty bottle,
glaring accusingly into the burning liquid,
As though all of the blame for this 
Could be found and rectified
within this vessel of incertitude.
But no.
The only one to blame is myself.
And there is no rectification for me.
I sigh, finishing off my shot in a moments time.
The noise between my ears is growing so loud,
I can't seem to think straight any more. 
Again, I look accusingly at the bottle.
Maybe this whiskey is broken,
because it's not working.
But then...
Maybe it's not the alcohol that's broken,
maybe that's just me.
And like I always seem to do,
I've simply passed the flaw of character
right along to the next...
Damn it all.

© 2016 Comatose

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Added on February 19, 2016
Last Updated on February 23, 2016



Twin Falls, ID

I write poetry and stories, which is obviously why I'm on this site. I just want some good criticisim and other people's thoughts on my writing style, simple as that. more..

2.5.16 2.5.16

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