alcoholism

The broken glass remained as evidence;
a witness to the drunken hours of hatred.
The green-carpeted steps had ended her pain,
but nothing could cure her of memory.

For bleeding, (after so many times for tears),
she'd discovered him asleep at last:
the insidious drug still clutched in his hand;
on the steps, in his steps, in his feet--
all over.
And her own, scarred forever;
true to the doctor's word.

For the glass would not come up:
too many bottles; too many pieces.
The damned glass would not come up,
but remained as memorial to all that she abhorred.