My whiskey bottle is crying, it’s empty for the night
Guess I’ll just sleep it off until the morning light
Tomorrow will be better, my bottle will be full
I can take the cap off and have another full pull
My whiskey keeps me sober; it helps to hide the pain
It holds back the sorrows that seem to pour like rain
Now it’s the afternoon and my bottle’s working fine
I feel better as the whiskey clouds my mind
My whiskey bottle is sleeping, dreaming of tomorrow
Thinking about drowning all that pain and sorrow
Wash away the troubles; rinse away the blues
Soaking down the problems that always come in two’s
Now I’ve got my cap off; tilted with the bubbles running free
Keep them going; keep it flowing, till I can’t see

When you see someone crying,
You should help.

You saw her cry,
You didn’t help.

But I was bowling my eyes out,
And she was barely sniffling.

That mirror that remembers more than a face,

And all the memories you want to erase.

Even that tear and scar you forgot about,

And every time you had a doubt.

The mirror was called more than a few names,

Every time with inner shame.  



The mirror prays every day,

That one day maybe you both see the same.

If tears were red,
they'd have seen —
my white pillow stained by morning,
red marks blooming on the bedsheet,
on my face,
on my shirt.
My eyes, still puffy,
still red
from the bleeding of the night before —
not from wounds,
but from weeping.
Eyes not meant to bleed,
yet they did.

And still,
no one noticed
the colourless blood I’ve spilled.

my cat is crying,
crying still, and always loud.
his mouth is grief incarnate.
what name could hold you,
you feathered fury,
you opera of complaint.

I wish I could cry it out
but instead I cry inside
There tears are flowing
and they drown my mind.

L.C.

I laugh—
Every time I’m on the edge of breaking.
When tears slip down,
Uninvited,
From eyes that were never meant to spill them.

I laugh with all I’ve got,
As if the sound can drown the ache—
As if pretending
Can make the pain behave.

I wear a smile like armor,
A mask of joy the world applauds.
But beneath it all—
Is a soul quietly screaming,
Begging to be held,
To be heard.

To be told:
It’s okay to cry.
It’s not weakness to feel.
It’s not a sin to break

some nights,
i cry
so quietly
that it feels
like my
soul
is the one
that is doing all
the crying
for me.

What are you supposed to say
when you run out of words
Teary eyes to the sky
Only silence to be heard

What am I supposed to say
When words don't even come close
To the mountain highs and weary skies
When I'm left without a single verse

What am I supposed to do
When my brain becomes an empty room
When my heart plays out it's final chord
Not even my soul speaks my truth