She sits on the table, plain in sight,

bottled up with the lid screwed on tight.
People know she’s there but they don’t ask why,
she’s alone.

She watches everyone pass by
glance with confident eyes,
move on.

I’m not exciting enough.
Not really there.

Just an image to waste their time,
for the one moment they pass by.

What’s the point of me being here,
today,
tomorrow,
in a week.

I’ll still be this lonely bottle with too many feelings
or
not enough.

I can’t handle their stares,
their cold insides,
determination to hurt
always on their mind.

I need it to end.

Will you help me now?
Come push me off the table,

off the edge,
into the skies.
Put my worthless existence to rest.

Please break my glass now,
shatter my glass against myself.

To break this lonely bottle, I call myself.



11-03-10