The Excess Of Excess

My cup weighs more than the drink,
so much that I can barely tell
when it's nearing the end of its contents.
I can hardly sleep, alone.
This space in my head can't take
the emptiness
when the cup is full
and my thoughts have room to breathe.
They are giant and bruising,
and I am pausing in awe
as a deluge is coming on.
I empty my cup to watch it fill;
I fill it to drink it dry
but I know
I will need to watch the rest spill
because I will want to see it full
repeatedly.
I enjoy this more, the cup,
than the drink itself.