The Near-Empty Bottle. A poem.

I glanced drunkenly into the near-empty bottle.
In the viscous alcohol I saw 
my face,
rippled and twisted 
like a garish Mr. Hyde.

I laughed at the carnival mirror,
so accurately reflecting 
every facet
of my, oh, so petulant features.
Every flaw and misconception
brought to life in 
errant ripples
at the bottom of a pit,
too deep to reach.

I cast the bottle aside and hailed for another,
in the hopes that I
(eventually)
might see 
something
far, far better.

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