top of page

Half Empty

The whiskey flows out of the bottle,

and into my glass cup;

halfway full,

or as I like to look at it,

half empty.

The whiskey slides down my throat

and into my stomach,

finding its way into another half empty vessel.

A half empty,





glass cup.

That’s what I’ve become.

That’s why the whiskey goes down in the first place.

There’s space that needs filling.

I fill it with poison.

But no matter how much I pour down my throat,

I remain

half empty.

My other half is missing,

she left me long ago.

But I am still here,

alive and

missing pieces,

with a soul that’s raging against the mundane life

as a half empty cup.

I heard a story about an old lady who lost her twin recently.

She was a sweet and broken old woman,

attempting to heal herself by writing poetry about the emotions of losing her twin.

Tears filled her eyes as she watched me read a few pieces of her work.

She had lost her other half.

I think about this,

and I wonder,

what right do I have to be half empty?

Then I remember,

I am a human too.


3 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

My date Was in recovery She stopped drinking 2 years ago I told her I was proud of her And then asked a few questions about AA Infinite Jest By David Foster Wallace Always had me curious About AA She

We were supposed to change the world, but instead, the world changed us. Changing the world ended up being . . . well, a lot of work. We got caught up in the grind, just to survive our lives—and the d

The psyche Isn’t so simple You can’t pop it Like a pimple You can’t see it Like a wound You can’t feel it Like starvation You can’t grab it It’s like water that way You can trick it In a million diffe

Post: Blog2_Post
bottom of page