Sunday, June 13, 2010


A lid stuffed in the top of a round bottomed bottle
Filled with all the pain and emotion of hurts too deep and dark to expose.
The bottle sits quietly on the shelf
for a moment or even longer,
Sometimes almost forgotten
until something starts the rocking,
Some small nothing, barely perceptible,
That causes the bottle to begin to rock and sway
Until it falls,
contents spilled everywhere
Leaving me lying on a tear stained pillow,
with books
and pills
and crumbs all around me,
I hemorrhage black blood and anguish until I am completely spent.
Then, as evening approaches, I pick it all up and shove it back down,
Stuffing the lid in the top of the round bottomed bottle
Placing it back on the shelf
I walk away.
Later I begin doing what must be done,
hoping the bottle will not fall again,
But knowing it will,
more likely sooner
then later.
“What’s wrong honey?” he asks at dinner.
“Nothing, nothing at all,” I answer.
Closing my eyes, trying not to look at the bottle.

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