My bottles, my bottles
There are quite a few.

Sometimes I unlock them,
Sometimes their corks just pop open all by themselves.

My bottles are just mine
And only a few are allowed to discover them.


This bottle contains my worry
Concerning all those ‘what ifs’.

This bottle contains my tears
For how dark the world may be.

This bottle encompasses my sorrows
For what could never have been.

This bottle harnesses my anger
Towards those that I truly love.

The bottles line my walls, cluttered and unkempt
There is no room in there for anyone,

Just the sound of taken space and stored away dreams

The room goes so far that there are probably some bottles that should be removed-
Probably not needed and just collecting the dust that was never swept away

So many closed bottles for just one room, just one girl…

But the one bottle I can’t seem to cork up and conceal on a shelf,
Is the one that keeps whispering…




“What happens when a bottle bursts?”