touches of whiskey

burn down my throat

until the fire inside of me

is consumed whole. 

 

the whiskey

makes the room softer,

you would whisper. 

the lights bleed together 

until we are nothing

but what the world wanted us to be. 

 

empty, perhaps;

to me,

you shine brighter than any light. 

a supernova in the sky –

I wouldn’t see it passing by. 

I would be too busy

looking at the residue circling your cup,

the way your eyes flicker,

to the whiskey on your lips. 

 

I wonder

when we will no longer need whiskey

in each other’s company. 

when can you look at me,

without that haze veiling 

your honey-coated eyes?

the sweetness of your fingers

is cold to the touch. 

how long can I drink 

until your fingers turn warm

against my skin?

 

I drink

to see you. 

I drink

to feel you. 

I drink,

not because I want to,

but because I need you. 

you will never look at me. 

the whiskey swirls inside of your cup,

ice clinking against the hardened glass. 

you will never look at me. 

you don’t need to. 

 

you seem miles away –

whiskey coating the tip of your tongue. 

I miss the taste of whiskey

and the distinctiveness of you. 

it’s addicting, 

like the shots I swallow down

every Friday evening. 

it’s addicting,

your lukewarm presence 

by my side. 

I want you.

I want you by my side. 

 

you peer at me

through fluttering eyelashes

mixed with coppers of whiskey,

and ask pleasantries 

that we both know are pointless. 

you sit beside me

with a glow that shines

brighter than any star

in the solar system. 

you are the center 

of my universe –

just the two of us,

sitting together in a hopeless crowd. 

 

Hopeless. 

I was used to the idea of you,

the knowing feeling deep in my gut

that you will be there for me –

a coexistence,

a mutual agreement;

yet, I sit here on a Friday evening,

whiskey burning my hand,

and you are no longer beside me.

the whiskey,

a comforting presence,

is bitter and empty.

I leave my glass on the bar table,

my fingertips in the form of a lost company. 

 

every day,

I step onto the glass shards of my question and answer.

you are always on my mind –

the beholder that breaks and wields me

all the same.

I wonder how you are doing,

which bed sheets you managed to slither under;

because it’s surely obvious now that

the copper in your eyes was never for me,

but for someone a little more daring,

a little more willing for the beckon and call. 

in a solar system so bright and vast,

it only makes sense for me

to lose myself in the orbit of you,

until I am nothing but the stars and sky

of former lovers; of broken hearts; 

and of shots of whiskey.

 

you drink me down until I am swallowed whole.

look me in the eyes and tell me

just how much whiskey you need

to picture me in the light of a past lover.

 

---

 

To summarize this poem with a few short, sweet, and simple words, I would describe it as the following: you drink to forget. I feel as if the poem speaks for itself. Whiskey plays a huge role in this, and how their “lover” constantly drinks whiskey in their presence. The loving relationship the narrator speaks of is obviously one-sided. There is a mutual benefit, friends with benefits type of scenario, but it isn’t love. In the end, the divergence of feelings leaves the narrator all alone as their lover finds solace in another person. To drink to forget: the lover is clearly trying to forget something or someone (and in this case, a past lover and heartbreak is involved). 

In relations to me, I was simply inspired by the ideas of heartbreak. I’ve been very into writing about heartbreak as of late (I’m unsure if this should be a sign of sorts towards some heartbreak of my own; but, my heart is fine right now – at least I hope). The potential disaster of heartbreak and the results it’ll have on me, an impulsive, heart-driven, and emotional person, scares me immensely. Perhaps, this’ll be a personal forewarning. I imagined this story in the eyes of an eye-catching blonde man as the lover. Usually, I imagine myself in the poem; yet, this time, I only wrote based on the blurry image I had on a singular character. I felt as if it changed the perception I had on this poem. I would act foolishly, drunk only on the love of another, but never in the presence of alcohol. There’s a clear divergence between myself and the poem, yet the elements of me still remain, even if done unintentionally.

 

drink me