3 a.m.

Its 3 a.m.
And I'm lonely
Sleepless
Restless
Bleary eyed
And spinning
The bottle of liquor that sits on the counter
Looks at me
The bottom third of a bottle of whisky
Sits filled with an amber liquid
Its taunting really
The way it sits there
This inanimate object
Bringing such comfort and such sorrow
Sighs and tears can't seem to quiet my thoughts
And the single bare bulb hanging from the kitchen ceiling
Makes the light eerier then it really should be
I sit in an awkwardly made wooden chair
Cutting me off right underneath my shoulder blades
I hold onto the counter tops and lean back
I hold onto the thought of you
My head hangs back
My broken heart seeming to break the slightest bit more
And I take another drink
Its 3 a.m.
And I'm lonely
Sleepless
Restless
Bleary eyed
With a broken heart