a bottle
discarded to live among the
filth lining the living room floor
it gazes up, at the drunkard who had so
graciously gulped down its life-force
he'd always been predisposed to living to
his loose and unruly conditions, no one else's

to the bottle, however, from down here
the man appeared wary, broken down
from the inside by years of self-maltreatment
he looked straight forward, his vision nary to shift
extracted from the depths of emotion, tears
trembled down his cheeks, interspersed with
perspiration from the boiling hot temp
of this goddamn room
out of nowhere, he slammed his hand upon
the table
how dare he feel weak? the bottle could
hear him asking
his fury was brought
tenfold on the surrounding furniture
couch overturned, reclining chair knocked
on its side

the TV was the sole survival amid the wake
of devastation engendered by the possessionless man
and the bottle, too, though it hadn't considered
itself lucky when he leant down,
clutched the brown transparent bottle in clammy fingers
(let go of me, you used me
enough, you fiendish monster)
"you did this to me!" he shouted
the bottle couldn't protest
"you and your -- your consumption have
tainted me, you are to blame
for all of my issues!"
the bottle didn't speak
the man's chagrin grew to mountain peaks
capped with extreme distaste of self instead
of freezing snow
grasped it at the neck, shaking its empty body
no more to taint him, right?

a swell urged his toss forward,
a fastball thrown faster than he'd thrown
away his dreams for the big leagues when
he took up the bottle
(owowow, pieces, why'd
you put me like this?)
now the TV sat face-down, cracked and shattered
glass fragments littered the floor like droppings
he flopped back into his chair after readjusting it
"i'll fix it tomorrow," he said sorrowfully