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lua Apr 29
my words
might wash up
against your shore
in torn up shreds
each scribbled letter faded
obscured by time
obscured by rippling waves
that thrash and tear
each piece left vague
dowsed in mystery
and a lingering
a longing
to be read

next time
i'll be mature enough
to put them in a bottle.
Patrice A Jan 23
I wish I could fit myself inside a bottle,
that travels across oceans
sailing off with the message,
earth is not home
and that I'm better off,
living in this beautiful irony
of getting by
with the swelling, and the panics and the wild spasms
of the watersβ€”

the only place
where I could
Shevaun Stonem Nov 2020
After leaving I thought I knew it all,
and that’s the worst part.
Because all I ever wanted was silence
but now the silence pierces
like a dart.
And I thought I was strong to walk away
from ruins- but tell me,
does it take more strength
to walk or build, in all honesty?
And all the words I chanted to my heart
are the opposite of what I now croak
from the bottom of an empty bottle,
from the hollow of my soul,
from the redness of my eyes,
from the fullness of my mind
and every ounce of my wit
now only proclaims,
you made me a hypocrite.

hypocrite | shevaun stonem
been there, felt that too?
Valentin Busuioc Oct 2020
in a thick milk bottle
a dark green one
which grandfather found on the beach after the war
having inside a shriveled yellow paper
without any drawing
without any inscription
the grandmother's ashes stayed for a while

grandmother being skinny
the bottle was almost empty
so the grandfather put the paper back in place

when he missed her
he took the bottle
put it on his chest
and spoked to her
and when my grandmother had to answer him
he was turning it like an hourglass
and so he did for two years
until he crouched too
(although it was harder
because he was hefty)
in the milk bottle

to make room for him
I finally took that sheet
and I stuck it on the window

when it rains on the sea and it's lightning
on both sides of the paper
two overlapping palms can be seen
one of a woman
and the other of a man
crossed in filigree
by a single line of life

nothing else
Pockets Aug 2020
I'm back to not sleeping again
I'm back to doing drugs without my friends
I'm back to nothing
An empty room
An empty bottle
A full head and ashtray
I wish I could close my eyes and go to bed
But I just can't
Simon Jul 2020
Having luck where I can achieve anything... Is like a young kid opening a bottle of their favorite bottled soda the day it first came out! Awaiting it's arrival like the coating of a nice breeze dancing throughout the company of skin coated with sweat. As the hairs with little droplets of already coated sweat came (as if a light drizzle fell over the field of endless rows of arm hair) not so long ago. Standing perfectly ***** as the sun blazes downward like a coating of sticky smog! Making the tips of the already (***** endless rows of arm hair) shine brightly with droplets bending light between it's different surfaces. Almost as if when looking through the pure liquid droplets, you see the inside of a crystal instead. A crystal fine layer with the inside of many warped and distorted angles. All the very uncomfortable effects may seem mildly first. Except for the awaiting call of the miracle that is the sizzling bubbles popping within a still closed bottle cap of your favorite bottled soda! And that's where ALL the effects that may seem mildly first, is usually because of the miracle that is on an "occasional" slight delay!
Sincerely... The "luck" is in the young kids favorite bottled soda!
Luck isn't just impatient...when it's truly hungry full of vigor! Especially when it wants to thrive in a motion full of severity!
Celestial Jul 2020
Here I sit,
In my safest place,
Still scared.

Paranoid to spit,
I must control my face,
Or be impared.

Falling into the pit,
Must state my case,
In repair.
Eva Jul 2020
The lid of a stained glass bottle,
leaves a burning sensation in my palm.
What was I hoping for?
Surely, this message will wrinkle-
my painful words silently drifting away.
And all that'd be left was my starving soul,
craving to be found one day.
Betty Jun 2020
A broken bottle
Rubbed smooth by the ocean
Tamed and beautiful
Nature creates art
Nobody looks too deep at the paintings I do
Could you tell who was the person lost
Who was drowning in the sea that I so much efforted to paint
Me, in the coldest and fakest water alive
Dead, and lost, such as a skeleton should be.
I, in love, how I wanted to be;
Satisfying love like lavender field in summer,
Flame of a candle, warmness from the fire
But frightened from the same medicine
Love is overrated and unpatieful, cold as a bottle of gin
Submersed in the midnight lake.
I've always been afraid of falling in love,
They never told were we would fall to, or where from
And if so, do we land or do we keep falling?
Is love an abism or a simple metaphor?
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