He wept,
Drowning in the puddle he poured.
His tears made the flood, his hands made the mess.
He played the victim. But the bottle was in his grip.
He shattered the glass, then mourned the pieces.
"Look at what you've done,"
he said,
Pointing at the spill,
Forgetting his own fingerprints amd left on every drop.
He cried over spilled milk, but forgot to mention.
He tipped the cup, and smiled as it fell.