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,

broken,

lost,

tormented,

insecure,

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.



-C.H.

4 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

It's Only A Loan

Take some of my will And take some of my wisdom You need it right now More than I do Borrow it for awhile And find your footing Take your ruins And build yourself up again And when you’ve made it to a

Eternal Novelty

The present moment is beautiful Because it can never be exactly repeated There is a Randomness involved in the present A potential For anything to happen The trees will be different tomorrow And so wi

What're We Even Doing?

One of three retired Americans report being depressed. And, Half of our first marriages end in divorce; while our second and third marriages statistically last much longer. We work our whole lives jus

Comments


Post: Blog2_Post
bottom of page