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ryn Feb 2015
.
•...mouth
wide  op-
en, glis-
tening...
in the li-
ght•aw-
aiting to
swallow
this lone
piece of parch-
ment•on it i've scribbled
all my heart could write•bea-
ring sweet nothings, sure and si-
lent•now... take this scroll•down
your neck... it'll effortlessly slide...
•to the core of your very soul•my
message would  follow your gui-
de•your opening i'd then gladly
seal •so your contents would...
remain guarded • time is now
to set adrift all i feel...•....now
ride the waves through jour-
ney uncharted•let the curr-
ents take you• let the tides
and winds be your friends
• ...  my quiet well wishes
would see you through •
in hopes that you would
be received by my love's
deserving... and...  open



*hands•
HearseTraffic Apr 27
The protagonist of every romance in my dreams,
I can't even utter your name without ripping apart at the seams.
Chewed up and spit out,
I've been left so rotten.
This corpse wanders the streets desperately waiting for your touch forgotten.
I love you, but I don't like you.
I hate you, but I can't live without you.
Forcing my vocal chords to submit,
I curse your name one last time as I rearrange the fibers holding me together.
Collapsed in the depths of our collective tears,
I bottle the salt used to disturb wounds reminding me of who bore them.
Reminding me of who brought me here.
The vehicle of this descent.
The antagonist of every romance in my dreams.
Originally written as prose in August 2017.
Talia Aug 30
When I reach out for help,
a hellish beast returns from the void,
only to bite my hand.
My utmost desire is to scream,
I crave to cry the sweet tears of sorrow,
I wish to unleash my demons from their prison.

But i'm afraid I can't.
Life is a big oof
My heart twinges
and my ears roar
with the afterthought
of my actions
in the world. I haven't

believed my story matters
for some time.
There were days when I'd listen
to Buckie High by BoC
so frequently.

I lived through
that tune for some time.

Longing to connect through that
sweet nectar, the comfort of Buckfast;
The heft of a bottle that felt right
in my hand, an extension

of my body
and its beliefs.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=l09cDh0k9kI
Roses79 Mar 14
Words, like wine,
curse through my veins.
Of struggle, and time,
carved from celestial light above.
Silent, ancient water drawn from vines.
A captive beauty, sculpted of fruits,
so ordinary at the time.
Hunter Taylor Feb 13
The waves are crashing in
Just beneath my skin
Do you hear the thunderclouds?
In my head, they're way too loud
The tidal waves are coming
And the rain will start to pour
So I better start running
Because I'm only in for more
The lighting starts to strike
Striking in my mind
Setting my thoughts on fire
Burning behind my eyes
You will never see
What's inside of me
And I will never strive
To be what I am inside
So turn away from the truth
Don't stay I'm begging you
You don't deserve what's to come
It's best if I just turn and run
I hide from myself
Afraid of what I'll see
So please protect yourself
From whats inside of me
Cyan Aug 16
I live inside a glass bottle
with crude facets
that refract
light at odd angles.
I must always be vigilant
for you want to open the bottle
so badly.
But when I can smell the air
I feel my skin ignite
And begin to boil away.
So I reach up and pull the stopper
of my volatile vial
tighter.

I’m sure if I were released
the view would be fantastic.
I would rush into the world
existing only for a second,
a glittering torrent
running from the air,
leaving swallowtails of myself
as butterfly scales
behind me
as I fly,
before combusting into
an acidic mist
and scatter,
searching for a new container.

And I will not let that happen.

Because I can’t let you
breathe me in,
for your ruptured lungs
to become
my urn.
Jack Jenkins Apr 11
please just let these wounds bleed/
razor blades across my brain/
razor blades across my brain/
over and over again/
counterfeit feelings and choked out dreams/
all im asking is you let me bleed/
let me breathe/
scream for air in a silent scare/
razor blades across my brain/
razor blades across my brain/
tired eyes and a poured out heart/
stop living and just survive after ive died/
nonsense is my language of choice/
a voice alone in the dark corner of my/
razor blades across my brain/
razor blades across my brain/
//On anxiety//
Caitlin Jan 18
To family, friends and strangers-
I’ve bottle everything up inside.
Suppressed my true thoughts and feelings.
Quashed any emotion.

I couldn’t speak the words,
but I sure as hell can write them.
Maybe this will heal me.
Instead of hiding, let me rip myself open for all to see.
Josh G Sep 2018
This bucket of mine
Has become a curse
I add to the pile
And it adds a verse
I keep it hidden
And tucked away
But its made apparent
Each and every day

I add to this bucket
And the weight piles on
This facade grows heavy
Tearing down my con
I fill this bucket
Up to the top
And when its full
It proceeds to pop

I cry and I scream
As I make ammends
This bucket of mine
That I cant show to my friends
I've grown up now
But my bucket has not
It wears its cracks
From the battles I've fought
This is a work in progress. I'm not 100% sure that I'm happy with the finished product but as it is right now is good enough for me. I will continue to add to this as more comes to me.
I will go where the swallows go,
following orange sunsets and
amber wings.
I will search for bottled letters,
written in the dawn of future,
for something more than bottomless worry.
I will go where the swallows go,
sleeping in the marshes' hollow,
I only hope for tomorrow.
My lungs may burst as I cover my nose and mouth,
I give my strength to the waters now.
With its will; I could too, learn to fly.
I will go where the swallows go,
because where they lead, I do not
know, but it's something better than here;
a being to cease my
fear--
Swallows are a meaning of love/hope
All feedback is welcome and appreciated
Jordan Rains Sep 2018

I wanted to pen down my feelings
But words got stuck somewhere else
Exploring unknown terrains
Walking on thin ice when it melts
I drenched in terror, tried hard to uplift myself
But my mood shifts like seasons
I think now I'm in need of some help
And I'm finding help from people to people
No one is here to assist me
Beset by darkness,
In this madness, only my carcass assist me
My heart loses the palpation, my mind eliminates the way to you
Fact that the sky is falling down on me isn't new
Thunders inside me are trying to perish my existence
And my subsistence solely depends on my own salvation
I hate to say this to you
Though I was alone, I tried to keep a distance
between me and you
The words have fallen apart, this feeling changed my mood
Existence of you reliving my soul
I'm incomplete, you make me whole.
Though I couldn't acknowledge the worth of my knack
I know pouring down my emotions
with great celerity is what I lack
Feels like my bro ken heart does not make any more sound for you
But you still surround me, at nights, you haunt me
Sometimes you taunt me, sometimes you daunt me
No matter what, now it feels like you longer want me
And something inside me tells me that
It's my thinking which prohibits me to bow against my situation
And that I should never fail
So I collect my words
I arrange them for the world
And I will never test the doubt of my mind
Because I know, these words are what I'll leave behind when I go
Maybe today or maybe tomorrow
It doesn't matter when
All I need is my ink to help someone think
when they are on the brink
And help them work through their sorrow
So I put pen to paper as often as possible
And when I do, I feel like there's no such thing as impossible.

Hg Aug 2018
i’m friends with a chemist
she always got a flask

now she got a heartache
and a faded henna tat

lately i’ve been lonely
and she’s been really sad

so we took to the roof
we took the ***** threw it back

her finger has a tan line
but we don’t mention it

i can’t hold down my liquor
or my laughter so i spit

she chugs like it’s water
she’s got those russian genes

the only thing i got in blood
are zits and heart disease

the sips leaks out her lips
like cracks within a dam

some drip onto her wrists
rubbing the henna off her hand

i make a drunk comment
on her spiral designs

she says they’re meant to bring
good luck and blessings to the bride

and then she paused the night
by tightening her lips

our feet dangle in silence
hanging off the tiled edge

till suddenly she cracks
her bottled up emotions

pours out what she feels
flowing the stream of words unspoken

**** love dude, she whispered
**** weddings and white dresses

**** me for ever thinking
he was ever something different

she looked down at the ground
as a crack of thunder rolled

she looked up at the clouds and said
love’s just a chemical

then hands to me the flask
and i take the final swig

sunset had almost ended
when a thought rained on my head

if love’s a chemical
and that’s all it’s ever been

our bodies are just flasks
and love’s just a reaction
©Hg
Kitt Jan 2018
Blue sky, smooth sailing
Balancing neon lights of my mind's eye
(as glassy waves lap against my feet)
And the innocent sands of a white-gold beach fantasy,
Soft, warm, and as sure as the day.

Graying sky, persevering
Forging ahead through tempestuous waves
(growing faster in speed and height than a father's son)
I cling to the sample of that white sand,
Bottled up in a tiny plastic pip.

Blackened sky, capsizing
Plummeting into jet-black sea
(stained in the lights of my fallen Titan)
The pip shattering, without my notice
Icebergs visible on the horizon of her heart
My sand lost into the radiant black seas
Never to be seen again.
Christian Ek Sep 2014
There was no way I could make her happy. The only sympathy I could offer her was my shoulder.
A place where her black tears could dry on my collared shirt.
How could I numb her pain.
I couldn't tell her "this is not the right place" or "people are looking."
Feelings aren't meant to be bottled up inside I figured but relinquished like the make up leaking down on her cheek.
At that moment I had the privilege of witnessing the uncovered human in her.
Sweet liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,

She looks -a still,
                  Young looks can ****.

Oh it breaks my heart…
                     It won’t be mine,

Bottled-up it gets better,
                Just give it some time.

Sweet liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,

Beauty stop, you stand still,
                              Young looks can ****.

I gave my heart and wasted my time,
Let my love out, let go-o-o-o-o…
Woman on woman -my Woe!

Sweet Liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,

Here with a feeble mind,
                                 Now drinking all the time!

Sweet liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,

Plump lips, her curly hair-r-r-s,
                                 Never a boyfriend, -she swears!

Sweet liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,

That body, does it shine?
                                       I’m drinking all the time!

Sweet liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,

Sweet liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,
An Old Timey Timey about man drowning his sorrows in liquor over the loss of his woman to another woman. He becomes elated at the notion that over time liquor gets better while females appearance deteriorates over time so he is in glee thinking she lost him and without those looks one day she'll never get another man which is ironic to place that assumption upon a woman who is not attracted to men.
LexiSully Nov 2016
Graceful petite creatures floating up high,
Fluttering and rippling,
Carelessly soaring on by

Strange little feelings bottled up inside,
Shivering and quivering,
Searching for some way to fly.
Purcy Flaherty Jan 2018
From Alan Lomax to the commercial music machine.

At the turn of the century when recording 1st became available to the masses “Music or recording a song” was an opportunity for common folk to reach out and tell the world something up front and personal, it meant that people were able to put themselves on “The record” A way of leaving a permanent audio statement an epitaph a form of audio immortality ~ life mood emotion captured and bottled for all eternity!
A great addition to the family "Album" something more tangible; a window to a real person, with a real life, a message and a real point of view!” a legacy, a blast from the past!

Few people expected music to be re-designed, homogenised, formulated, copied, repackaged covered and played over and over again by musicians in the form of "cover music"  or become secularized, ****** and constrained by a musical genre.

Labeling and streamlining music mostly benefits the commercial music industry! This multi-billion pound industry has made commercial success through the process of mass homogenisation, product synthesis, marketing, streamlining and then packaging fashion, sound & synthetic culture  to sell their product!

And so what was originally intended as a historical record, a personal message, or an immortality motivated art form, is now sold as a product containing  noise and yet more advertising, pertaining to genre nonsense, labeling and re-marketing, so much so that there is now more nonsense immortalised "Just fashion noise" than anything else.

To re-cap ~ I Think that songs are an audible form of expressionism and like story telling they convey moods and messages from the past! If singers and musicians create more than they copy then they are saying more whilst not devaluing the words of their predecessors!
From Alan Lomax to the commercial music machine.
A culture of cover singers, blinkered snobbery and the hermetic music industry !
Anne Feb 14
he reminds me
of sunshine bottled
up in a jar.

the furthest i’ve
fallen

was probably
trying to c - a - t- c- h
that bit of warmth.

when bottled up jars

once tightly shut
never opens.
"the furthest I've fallen"
Travis Green Oct 2018
I live inside my bottled thoughts
inner and outer worlds traveling  
in tightened vowels
becoming extreme intensities
amplifying in deeper depths
My broken brain complains
about the stained flames
burning with no flight
darkened and silent
outside realities declined
I’m searching for the poet
within me
the bursting bright body
shining with true existence
Osiria Melody Mar 24
he was quite the talker, words flowing like alcohol.
his words were always blurred, indecipherable.
could never consistently express coherent thoughts,
for his silence always spoke louder than the words
he intended to say.

he slipped through Support's embrace and poured
his troubles out of a bottle of wine.
glass after glass, a crowd of the only visitors that
come by.
submerged his soul in Despair night after night.

his loved ones assume that he's tired and hates
company, but never see the cave of darkness
through his eyes.
in this cave of darkness lies a stash of bottled wine,
inconspicuously hidden in his abode.
as his heart overflows with wine's toxic kiss, the
life within him drains to Death.



Melody
3/24/19
The most painful thing is regret over not saying the words that you wanted to say, so say what's on your mind before it's too late.
Andrew Jul 2017
Oh, what a horrible night
Definitely not late December back in '63
These are the Frankie valleys of my days

Night is always black
Night always comes back
Night envelopes us in the abyss
And makes us cherish light
Heightening our senses
To help us handle the unknown

When my days are filled with stimulation
The stillness of night sinks me
Into quicksand mixed by
The current of my mind
Overflowing into the sands of time
And reminds me
Of the stillness of my eyes locked on you
Or the stillness of my actions as you walk by
Or the stillness of my heart when you call me a ******

My frustration boiled
Night's black tar
So I bottled it up
Placed it in a syringe
And medicated my love with darkness

I worked my first job at the local Kroger's
People would leave with everything they wanted
And I'd push their empty carts back into the store
The artificial lights of the street lamps
Lacked warmth
Their hypnotic buzz highlighted
The stillness of night
Making me wonder if there was any way I could be happy
Similar to when activity would die down in rehab
A pitiful wretch left to his faculties
I'd stare out the window
Into the concrete chasm
And wonder if happiness could be found by someone like me

Night continues
Night confines
Day comes
And goes
Night returns
Night reburns
Night relearned
I really hate to see the day come to an end
It'd be alright if I was on the bay with a pen
But I live near sulfur vents
Inside a searing tent
Where the hellacious temperature rises rapidly
Despite the absence of the sun's warmth

The hellfire of night
Reminisces of those
I have thoroughly failed
And my overwhelming remorse
As I stare out my window
Into the bramble ravine
I wonder about the possibility of contentment
The stillness of night answers me
But at least now I can open the door
And charge into the night headstrong
To search frantically
For someone who
Erases my history
And writes my future
And makes me wonder if I could ever be happier
Antino Art Nov 2018
Raised
in this floating
world, forever
deep.
You can’t drain the ocean

Decidedly from down
south of here
You can’t un-trace the roots.

You can’t lie and say,
“This isn’t where I grew up”
You can’t deny the fruits
of what was planted two generations ago
when your grandpatents arrived from the Philippines, seeds in tow
soil for the taking
You can’t confiscate what they claimed
when they planted their flags
into the moon-white sand of a beach in Florida
on a far side of the planet
their forefarthers have never seen

You can’t say those flags weren’t there
when wind came
You can't ***** out that pride
of country,
cut off its native tongue and its acquired taste, or pass up the plate of fried lumpia and rice passed down from the kitchen of your Daddylol
feeding seven kids day in and out with tomatoes he planted,
chickens he raised, Malonggay leaves he grew
with thumbs so green they wrote in the papers about it
He was a farmer
Your grandmother, a nurse
And i was writer
And this is our story

You can’t erase the letters of your name,
your lineage written all over it
like a map
of everywhere we been
You can’t take back the words in Tagalog and Chavacano
your Lola Shirley must have sang your mother to sleep with
You can’t take their dreams

You can't just wake up one day and undo
the ripple effects their moves
created across waters 10,000 miles east of here,
the rolling waves they curled into
or the faraway shores they washed up upon
Bottled messages in hand
Our legends held within
You can’t say centuries from now that they won’t feel it
when their feet hit the sand of their own frontier
beside the waves we stayed making
a history written in deep water
for those who come after you
to sail above and beyond.
For Nali
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