A stale bottle of piss

 Midnight hit like a hammer 

and the sky burst open in fireworks,

but not for me.
Not for the one who stood beside you
thinking maybe this year
would feel different.

The crowd counted down
like fate winding a clock,
and when it struck twelve
you vanished
into mouths that weren’t mine,
into hands that didn’t know my name,
like I was nothing but background scenery—
like I was silence
in a room full of music.

And there I was,
left standing with my heart cracked open,
like a stale bottle of piss
forgotten in the corner,
worthless, embarrassing, unseen—
and god, it burned,
that ugly humiliation of caring
when someone else never planned to.

But listen—
I will not stay stuck in that moment.
I will not stay frozen at midnight.
Because if you can disappear so easily,
you were never something solid to hold.
You were a sparkler—bright, loud, gone—
and I am something steadier,
something that survives the fireworks
and still glows when the sky grows dark.

I may have stood alone at twelve,
but I walked forward after.
And there is strength in that.
There is power in staying
when someone else runs.
One day, when the noise fades
and the lights calm down,
I will still be here—
more than enough,
and no one’s leftover anything.