At a Table No Longer Alive

“At a Table No Longer Alive”

by: Pecahan_Aksara

He stared at the glass—

not because he was thirsty,

but because at the bottom of the liquid

reflected the face that once loved him.

Every sip was a misdirected prayer,

every bottle a noisy memory.

He swallowed the night, not the alcohol—

because love had already intoxicated him.

“Forget it,” someone whispered in his mind,

but forgetting wasn’t sold in liquor stores.

He laughed bitterly,

like lips burned by longing.

Now the bar table was a small altar,

where he worshipped his shadow,

and begged drunkenness—

that morning would never come again.

Because tomorrow only meant being conscious,

and being conscious meant remembering.

While he just wanted to disappear,

slowly,

like the vapor of alcohol

that he didn’t have time to regret.