I have exhausted my muses
till they ****** the life
out of my hands
and tortured
me with
bottled
thoughts
left inside
me

I wish I wouldn't bottle things up so often. I underestimate my feelings, and wind up hurting. It's truly the worst feeling of all, when the smallest of things end up breaking the bottle. All I want really is to express myself freely without overthinking everything that runs through my mind.

Multiple beautiful faces,
immaculate complexions,
and precise, practiced grins.
It's easy to understand
why it makes me thirsty;
they invented bottled bliss,
eagerly and professionally selling:
beauty, happiness, companionship---
all for the price of $1.50 with tax
at the cost of only my dignity.
Affordability and availability,
it's no wonder it's high in demand.
The American success story:
to sell simple desires
to the lazy, naïve man,
who believes he can't
obtain them otherwise.

my mouth
it never runs out of words
to say
always spilling, reaping attention

but why
does it run dry
like a wishing well
no words at all leaking out

at the sight
of your face?

Each one handmade and held together with hope
From shore to shore each containing a note
Broken and flooded not all will survive
Their pieces find rest with salinity and die
With luck and good will others arrive
Please open and read them between the LInES
For when you look close the message is same
Within; a teardrop, blood clot, and ragged remains
Is inscribed a pleading for help, please be human(e)s  
You may retain or refuse the option is yours
yet for me their treasure is reveled with embrace
and when opened I relate and savor their tastes
to my bottled up world that has just yet been before displaced

i stopped bleeding
bleeding the words
the feeling
i needed to write
and now
im bottled up inside

and i cant think anymore.

-r.y.s