I have begun to free myself from the bottle
I no longer spend my time
Toiling away
Exhausting myself at the hands of this painstaking process
Of pushing my soul through the neck
And then shoving a cork in after it
So that nothing can possibly seep through

Yes,
I'm done with that.
I'm tired of that.

But underlying the bubbling explosion of my sentiments
Sits the apprehension
Silently nudging me,
Telling me
That I should stop,
I should stop shaking the bottle
That I should have never spent so much energy,
I never should have looked
So hard
For the corkscrew

When the bubbles finish rising
Out of this inadequate container,
What is left, will be less
Much less

And I'm not sure
If that is any better