pieces of the shattered glass you threw,

A Writer's Soul

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…

View original post 35 more words