glass

Watered down, it's lost its taste. I've watched it fade from red to pink to nothing but a pale memory. Tear-like sweat's built on the glass, made it hard to see what was left.

Oh, the bitter end. When that small, stubborn pool of "was" is all that remains. But it's not that bad, really, because it's just so hard to be bitter when there is simply nothing left to taste.

Clarity reveals itself at the bottom of a bottle, clinging beneath those few, ghostlike drops like a bottom feeder: sweet and bitter's ends are always the same. Nice flavor, but a slow and inevitable fade.

It's breaking down. Ice to water, water to gas. Yesterday's solutions are no more, only problems remain. And we've had those for a while.

My dear, what we've got is vinegar on ice; and I'm thirsty.