The Cost of a Drink

You’ve sat down, and you watch me fumble with the guitar. My thoughts wander. I’m drunk.

Your eyes take me in, seeing me for all I am. You’re unable to look away, to stop listening. You’re seeing me for the first time.

Fuck, you understand.

You’ve finally looked me in the eyes. The anguish, the realization.

I’ve dreaded this day, and I had hoped I would have been gone before now. To spare you.

You’re mourning me, as I sit breathing in front of you, my mumbling voice unceasing.

My skin burned at your gaze, and my brain was fuzzy, what song was I playing? 

You saw that too. I improvised, but you knew.

I wish I never came, for you to see me like this means I failed you.

You’re brows furrow, and you’ve made up your mind. Who am I to you now?

You don’t cry, but your face is downcast, you’re struggling.

“You know, don’t you?” Your body froze, and then our eyes met once more. 

“You know,” the words left but I no longer recognized my voice. It’s over.

Where I am empty, my cup is not, so I take a sip.