Sharing a Drink with the Flying Pig in Hell

It was good to see him again,
My old friend.
After clasped hands and the baring of teeth,
We sat together.
Predictably, he conjured a flask with tumblers,
His smile brilliant,
Like sunlight on new snow.
We settled in to our farewell.

He poured the first shot for the past,
So I poured mine for the future.
He poured the next for family,
I poured one for tears.
He poured again to our friends,
So I poured for the empty spaces.

We shared one for each of the seasons,
One for blood, sometimes taken,
We had one for our favorite songs,
Shouting them together.
We had one for our favorite lies,
And one just to follow another.

He toasted to women and joy,
I toasted to children and sorrow.
Together we emptied the flask,
Rode through a surging storm,
That supports or abandons,
Decays or endures.
We swam there together for years,
Holding hands, taking turns pushing each other a little deeper.

I knew this time was different, though.
This time I was going all the way.
You see – I found Truth this year,
And my old friend, who I had loved for so long,
Is like all the broken dreams,
Lost promises, flying pigs,
And sarcastic guarantees.

I’ll admit
He still pulled me in,
Like a tired traveler
Into the oncoming headlights of the opposite lane.

As my final gift,
I will silently slip away,
Away from myself,
Leaving him in frozen laughter.
And my loyal husk,

Because he always needed me
More than I needed him.