It's in my hand.
The cold contents creates a tidal wave of shivers through my vessel of a body as I glide my dainty fingertips across the frosted glass.
At any minute I could unscrew the lid and feel everything decompress,
I know I could.
I know I should.
Yet I know I won't.
I find myself trying to peer into the bottles in others' hands.
Some are completely empty.
Some people lack the ability to fill their bottles,
Others find it easy to flush out the contents of theirs.
Some wait until they can wait no longer,
Until the bottle isn't strong enough to cope,
Until the lid bursts open
and the bottle shatters completely.
Some can only helplessly tumble
down that red waterfall of discomfort.
Please don't let that be you.
YOU ARE READING
Bottlecaps
ПоэзияSo this seems slightly depressing but the idea came to me whilst having a conversation with one of my male friends about how boys tend to "bottle up their emotions". I said that it was unhealthy and he said, "not if the bottle is big enough" and I s...
