The Bottle

We all live inside a glass bottle.
Our lives pour out of the top.
And in our feeble minds one day
We decided to cork the top.

We wallow in our self pity,
The words of others cannot get in,
Behind the thickened and stained glass
Of this bottle that we’re in.

So I’m sitting in this bottle,
Struggling to keep it uncorked.
Thinking that if I can just cut myself off
That all this thinking will stop.

I know it won’t.
It’s a lie I’ve told myself before,
And yet I am tired of sitting stumped.
Not knowing how to score.

I just need you to answer my bottled message,
The message with no words or questions.
Because I don’t know what it is.


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