I hope you find solace at the bottom of those beer cans.
I hope that at 2am when you’re blowing my phone up with angry vile things-
It doesn’t make a damn difference and the loss of me continues to hang thick in the air.
Every minute of sleep you used to peacefully get while I cried alone on your couch after you screamed obscenities at me;
Well I hope it’s gone and all that’s left is lonely sleepless nights while my side of the bed feels hollow to you.
I hope your sheets feel less soft-
Your bathroom walls look less bright.
I hope that you bring 300 women into that bed but you still somehow can’t satisfy the deepest of aches that I left when I refused to give you that 100th chance;
And you’ll stay angry and bitter because of it.
Because of you.
Because you chose that alcohol every single time but like to claim you’re not an alcoholic;
It’s like claiming a cow isn’t a cow.
You chose to be vile and disgusting rather than communicative and adult like-
It was like asking a 2 year old to talk about their feelings.
Pretty obvious if you ask me but,
Broken record on repeat you are and you’ll continue that cycle until the day you die.
The only thing that will be left to love you by then will be alcohol.
And I hope you find solace in the bottom of those beer cans-
Because the alcohol never loved you back like I did before you destroyed me for it.
