#bottles
A child
all alone
in the darkness
a time when
their world of fantasy
no longer there
to support them
As she walks on the unstable ground
all she wants is someone there
to keep her from falling
in this pool of confusion
But she couldn’t speak
The words don’t come out right
So instead she learned
not to talk at all
It worked
for a while
When the bottle broke
She could only blame herself
as she picked back up the pieces
ready to start all over again
Jan 19, 2025
Jan 19, 2025 at 2:38 PM UTC
my shorts stuck to the back of my thighs as I walked up the brick steps. I hear the brakes of the bus sigh as they are released.
I grab the rusted door handle and look through the spider-webbed window.
I step in and the cold air stings my face and seeks into my nostrils and travels down the back of my throat.
I see you passed out face first on the couch.
I envy the feeling you have, the sweat being dried against the cool black leather. What relief that must be
Like a cold bath after a fever breaks.
I know your fever is rising but you won't say it.
but your silence and opened pill bottles tell me everything while you're asleep.
Apr 29, 2021
Apr 29, 2021 at 11:34 AM UTC
There's nothing left to say
Everything felt hollow
Like empty glass bottles
Left lying around the corner
Waiting to be shattered and thrown
Time passed and I saw shards scattered
All over the place, this unlikely image
A phantom of what was once a lovely figure
That painted smiles to the faces of many
And served as a crying shoulder
To those who were broken and hurt
The image echoed through my head
As realizations dawned upon me
I took a glimpse at the mirror
And what I saw on the reflection
Was a figure of an empty glass bottle
Standing in front of me
Jan 12, 2021
Jan 12, 2021 at 7:29 PM UTC
I've been questioning myself
While sipping from the worst wines ever made
And cheap hotel whiskeys
Lighting lonely matches to throw on the bathub.
The cold from the bottles, honey
They would tell you a pretty story
Of how doomed was who held onto them.
Jun 19, 2020
Jun 19, 2020 at 12:51 AM UTC
the glinting, shimmering bottles on the shelf seem to be glaring at me
their penetrating stares create a twisted knot of guilt in my stomach
my friends come over, asking and asking for the invisible secrets in the clear glass
I deny their knowledge, another layer of guilt befouling me
a few of them have watched me unscrew my bottles
and they ran from me, as far as they possibly could
but one day,
he comes over to my house
my house with my shelf of glass bottles and quiet old me
he isn't interested in me or my bottles
but I am intrigued by his innovative, analytical presence
so loud and harsh are the colors surrounding him
but they are hiding something, I am sure of it
and suddenly,
a bottle falls out of his aura of light
he reaches down to pick it up hastily,
and looks at me, for my hand is on his fallen bottle
he looks at me with those secretive, manic eyes,
and then looks at the bottles on my shelf
he picks one out, and I let him open it,
for I am gently unscrewing his glass
the secrets fly out of both shining bottles
and enter the jars of our mind
I look at his face, which mirrors my own
the intensity of our understanding gazes is why I place my hand on his
and neither of us run away
Apr 1, 2020
Apr 1, 2020 at 6:45 PM UTC
Plastic seas
suffocate oceans..
Bottled apocalypse...
Oct 27, 2019
Oct 27, 2019 at 5:13 PM UTC
I've try my **** hardest to feel loved, accepted.
I lead people to fall in love, and leave them because I can. Even though I promised them different.
I complain about boys, but the boys aren't the problem it's me. I'm the one who makes these problems for myself because it's easier to push everyone away and deal with those consequences as they come, rather than to accept my forever fate. I say it's because I'm young, I can't find the one. I know all the right things to say, so they'll stick around, even after i've left them in the dust too many times, but I do know not to say love. It confuses them, and me.
I know love isn't in my heart, never has. Heartbreak started before I was born. When my father didn't want me, my mother couldn't have truly wanted me, after all she was 16, everyone around me was burdened by me before I even opened my eyes.
I hear it a lot, "you look, remind me of your mother" "You remind me so much of myself" "My mini me" You have the same issues, depression, bipolar, trust issues, and failure to commit, it's pretty insignificant, but it's lurking there, in my head. Scratch that it all races through my veins, and I'm surrounded by it, as everyone I know is infected by it too.
It commitment even real? As far as I know, it's something I couldn't even imagine. I have these people trying to get at me, claiming, "Let it be just me and you baby" but every time I fall for those lies, I can't help to start chasing a different one, more and more.
Picking up that bottle seems like second nature. Along with my issues, I was blessed with addiction, that's racing through my veins more than commitment isn't. I'm told not to let it get out of hand, after all I've seen what it does to people. But I can't help but find myself longing for the next time I can feel the warmth of that liquid as it slides down my throat. Longing for the next time I can place that skinny piece of paper between my fingers, lighting it as the smoke slithers down to find my lungs, inhaling to insure it's doing it's job, then exhaling to see the smoke dance around the air that's consuming me. Longing for the next time I can feel happiness. Longing for the next time I can punch something to release my anger, because we all know I can't do it creatively.
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 10:26 PM UTC
I'll keep the bodies in boxes
I'll keep the emotions in bottles
They're bound to be found,
One day.
Until then I'll hide them.
Keep them safe.
In case if I need them later.
But the bottles will crack.
They'll be found.
They'll be seen.
Loud and clear.
Like, little bursts of explosions,
And no explosion is ever good.
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 6:41 AM UTC
I write poems about the thoughts
and I draw flowers from the scars
I turn bottles into vases
I call this damage art
I send the feelings to the hole
where used to lay my heart
so I can pretend
me and my "problems" are a world apart
I know these thoughts do not rhyme
and on my skin, the scars will lie
i know to hold all these bottles is not wanting to say goodbye
i know this damage is real
but then so is this art
so I will continue to write
as it tears me apart
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 1:32 PM UTC
i drowned myself in sorrow just to talk to you
but you were quiet.
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 11:11 PM UTC
Bottles of alcohol squat on the counter, and cigarette butts
like yellow dead June bugs on the floor.
Bottles of shimmering reasons to not care about a hangover,
to leave prom early and rejoice in your parent’s absence.
Glistening necks, elegant glass nubs with no cap
tipped up into mouths screaming proud and hoarse,
We are STUPID! And CONTAGIOUS!
our ***** voices breaking under the radio sound
to a loud song whose generation no longer cares.
But we do, dumb boys and girls in a truck, rolling around town
like Haylee’s bottle of Jack Daniels in the trunk—
aimless, optimistic, and looking for reasons, so
buy a pack at the Chevron and let’s go smoke!
That’s enough, after all, isn’t it?
Reason enough to crack the windows, find a Carlyss backroad,
waste away midnight and half a tank of gas.
Still, as I drive on, a 90s rock station stimulating rotation of the spliff,
that smell puts my mind out of guitar solos and into placid hallways,
Smells Like a night in my dad’s apartment,
the stubbly couch with the nicotine blanket,
the Marlboro tone in the air, concrete crumbs and a lighter’s grating chrrt.
Divorce sounds like alcohol—
a word that burns, something sterilizing and for adults only.
But I don’t care, it’s my turn on the spliff,
and the backseat of my truck sounds more Alive
than the old horror movie rentals he would put on.
And why should I worry about what sobriety means
when we’ve been planning this night for months now?
All stocked up on Bacardi and Smirnoff Ice, Captain Morgan’s, Svedka, Mike’s Hard,
Swisher Sweets wrapped up in the **** bag—
We shoot our *** soldiers eager to start the war,
that war against a domestic unknown enemy,
an enemy dangerous and subversive, like sober-minded aspirations.
And while Zack rolls the blunt, while Jack finds his Camel pack,
while you ask for a hit of Haylee’s cigarette,
I fill a glass with water, my intention to hydrate
exactly as genuine as my intention to forget about it.
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 3:39 PM UTC
I have kissed boys
Girls
People in between
But lately I have been kissing bottles
Their lips are colder than yours
But slowly I have realized that the pounding headache when I wake is less hurtful than the shattering in my chest
Yet as these toxins rush through my veins
I can't help but miss the tracing of your fingers along my skin
Miss the numbness of the world when you lie with me
But when I wake I remember that a headache is treated with an aspirin
While heartache
Well if you have a cure for Heartache let me know
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 12:56 PM UTC
line the shores
with hospital beds
let them sleep by the sea
if nothing else
they can jump the fence
untethered from the bodies
but when the credits roll
i still won't get up to leave
because behind the smoke screen of relapse
there's figures waiting for me
some days i'd like to stay
some days i'd like to drift away
i've never had an original thought
but i keep thinking them anyway
so what will it be: a slice of life, or a chunk of wrist?
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 7:09 AM UTC
#
Bottles of cheap bliss
drown out lugubrious sadness
replaced with bottles of ****
in this festering den of madness
at least there’s paradise in my poems
at least there’s a clean bed in my dreams
at least in those spaces I’m in your arms
at least I’m happy bathing in the moonbeam
surround by a fetid smell
with a lack of care for myself,
is my hunger even quelled
when there’s no food left on the shelf?
a roach skitters across a pile of clothes
my temporary friend that I confide in
he speaks, “Here is what I propose.
Stop thinking that you are a has been
get off your *** and clean this mess
unless you want more of my kin
stop ******* at the bottle is what I suggest
and have a little victory, a little win
you don’t have to live”
Squish
“Funny how you can survive a nuke
but not my tiny bare foot,
well you pest, there’s my rebuke
how’s it feel to be ground to soot?”
“What am I doing with my life?
Maybe the cockroach was right.”
#
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 9:39 PM UTC
#
Got jumped going down the alley
by a couple of bottles and a card game
Got my portrait painted finally,
hands hidden by the fancy frame
"Immortalized Sobriety"
that's what I'll call it,
immortalized sobriety
and not alcoholic
I'll tell my friends
I'll never drink again
We both know that's
not ******* happenin'
I'll tell my friends
I'll never lie again
We both know that's
maybe gonna happenin'
Am I losing my mind?
No, no just one more drink
am I perfectly fine?
No, no just let me think
My mind is soaked
in fermented brine
this page is soaked
with blotchy
**i
n
k
-**
-ling of a remembrance
woke up in the backseat
of a taxi cab repentance
aftertaste so bittersweet
declare me in-dependance
I'll tell my friends
I'll never drink again
We both know that's
not ******* happenin'
I'll tell my friends
I'll never lie again
We both know that's
already happened
Am I losing my **** mind?
No, no just one more **** drink
am I just fuckin' blind?
No, no just let me fuckin' think
I think I might need,
I think I might need,
I think I might need
you.
#
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 3:27 PM UTC
why do i like the pain
it's all the same
repeating nights
repeating days
repeating kisses
and repeating shame
feel no ways
***** bottles and a song by drake
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 2:45 PM UTC
"Freezing Pain"
I keep running in circles,
What happened to miracles?
The state done took the baby away,
I have no more strength to pray,
I'm tip-toeing over broken bottles,
Still alive after many throttles,
Trying to numb this freezing pain,
I can't flush these pills down the drain,
All of them I could swallow,
Your happy but I wallow,
No, can't say I wish you the best,
Your sleeping with her yet I can't rest,
She's gonna throw you away like trash,
And then you'll come running back in a flash,
Don't bother I have nothing left to give,
This insanity gives me no reason to live,
Don't bother trying to come back to my bed,
Because I will already be dead. ~ Night Writer
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 5:46 PM UTC
have you lost
something
in my
box
listen sweetheart
love don't rattle
let's fresh
start
love
ain't
no
battle
war with me
laugh at me
let me
be
no
bodys fool
test me
together we can
ride the rim
of
your
mothers
tea cup
let me
shine
on
you
this
diamond ring
you have persuaded me
out
of
my mind
what mind
?
...
..
.
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 7:04 AM UTC