I have sat in what would seem comfort and muse…
…as I let you watch me slowly die.

Shall I confess what I found once
I swam to the bottom of that bottle?

Nothing.

Loneliness.

And I am tired of being alone.

But now I’m at the bottom and I’m choking,
I’m drowning, in need of air.

I’m sorry for feebled and failed attempts at censorship.

I’m sorry for stolen time and moments.
I’m sorry for stolen memories and money.

I am sorry I let you see me attempt
to drink my death sips at a time.

I am sorry. I hurt too.

I’m coming up for air.

For once, I’ll ask for that hand when I breach the surface.